


The Death Brigade

by katzengefluster



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Gang AU, M/M, Pit Fighting AU, Slow Burn, i'll add more tags and characters as they come up, this is gonna be a dark one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 97,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzengefluster/pseuds/katzengefluster
Summary: In a society ruled by wealth and violence, blood is paramount, and Kim Jiwon’s has never been worth more than the gutters it falls in. After two years, hundreds of fights, and not a single loss, he’s finally making a reputation for himself—but reputations only last until you lose.





	1. Germanicus' Son

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired for this after watching an episode of Love, Death, & Robots (specifically Sonnie's Edge). I'd recommend watching it if you've got 15 minutes to spare as it'll nicely set the mood for what's to come!
> 
> This is set in slightly dystopian future, where society is run on money and the fighting arena. Kids grow up idolizing fighters over musicians or actors, and violence is common place. There is a very obvious divide between the rich and the poor. Hanbin, Junhoe, and Yunhyeong all come from the rich side, while Jiwon, Donghyuk, and Chanwoo come from the poor side. Jinhwan sits in the middle, straddling the line as a newspaper reporter.
> 
> As mentioned in the tags this is going to be really dark, with a lot of angsty storylines. It's the epitome of a slow burn, as feelings are going to take a very long time to develop.
> 
> Also wanted to say a big thank you to my best bro ZombieCheeze for that summary cause boy did I struggle. ♥
> 
> Also: I aged Hanbyul up a few years. Everyone else is their actual age.

  _[i never sharpened my teeth, i was born with these fangs  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zf99kdFw9b8)                                _ "Грустная Сука ( _Sad Bitch_ )" IC3PEAK

A palpable silence fills the hall, the sort that has him losing touch with any sense of time. There is nothing to distract him from the intense beat of his own heart, nothing to cover the blood rushing in his ears. It stuffs his head like cotton, drowns out everything that exists outside his own body until he feels like _he_ is also outside of his own body.  
  
He is high in the rafters, watching from above, a carrion crow circling his own corpse, observing. Always waiting. He is his own God.  
  
Sweat drips down the back of his neck, an itchy trickle that slams him back into his own body, makes him shiver and stretch his shoulders, neck twisting in some vain attempt to scratch the itch. Instead he feels the sharp bite of leather on skin. It’s good to hear something other than his own body.  
  
“Focus,” a voice hisses in his ear, “when you allow distraction is when you allow death to take you.”  
  
“Death will not come for me,” he answers under his breath, a whisper so low he can’t be certain he’s actually spoken it aloud. The whip lashes his skin again, bites against his flesh. He’s grateful for it.  
  
“I hear every word you speak, no matter how low your voice. Answer me like that again and I will keep you here all night.”  
  
He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, seeks to reconnect with the crow, requires the use of his third eye. It’s an important part of training, the cancelling out of bodily distractions, the ability to rise above the constraints of mortality and ascend into the essence of a higher being. It’s a practice he has mastered at a young age, but occasionally he slips up. Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, there are concerns that gnaw at the back of his skull, that bleed out from his subconscious and beg for attention.  
  
He’s been on edge since the early afternoon. His little sister’s pet cat had turned up dead on their doorstep, guts wrapped around its neck like an obscene offering of jewelry. He knows who is responsible. They all know. But no one is willing to make a move, and that is what has him riled up.  
  
 _We do not spill blood for animals,_ his father had said, _we do not show weakness to those who seek to depose us._  
  
But his father will not be the one who dries her tears. He is not the one who will let her sleep next to him only to keep her from screaming through the night.  
  
Comforting his sister is his job, and has been his job ever since she was born ten years ago. His father is not a cruel man, but neither is he a soft man. He is simply a man who values the importance of appearances, who prioritizes the reputation of rational reaction over dramatic shows of revenge. That is their character, that is how they retain their storied position atop the upper echelon of society. They are being tested now because of his sister, the same way they’d been tested when he had been her age. Children are a weakness to be exploited by those who lack social graces.  
  
Hanbyul will learn quickly, the same way he’d learned quickly. Children can only grow up when they are ready to grow up, and sometimes moments of cruelty are necessary to speed the process along. He’ll let her cry for the cat tonight, because it is important to acknowledge the loss. But when tomorrow comes and they are bathed in the dawn of a bright sun he will focus her turmoil into anger, and he will teach her how to hone it to a deadly edge.  
  
Then perhaps he’ll visit the chief of police and barter information in exchange for retribution.  
  
Just so they are aware that vengeance need not always come by their hand. Fingers of _The Legion_ are in every pot, inky fingerprints left in plain view. But they do not personally handle every insult, because not every insult is deemed worthy of being handled.  
  
For now he simply opens his eyes again, neck no longer itching despite the continued trickle of sweat. He switches his focus to the pressure against his feet, to the blunted nails that threaten to pierce calloused skin. He wonders how close it is to the end of the hour, to his reprieve.  
  
He feels stronger with every day he spends in preparation, feels ready for the day he is finally granted approval to step into his role with _The Legion._ As his father’s firstborn, as the successor to the family empire, he has not been admitted to fights and won’t be until his father deems he is ready. There is an ages long reputation to uphold, over a century’s worth of standing tall atop the peak. He cannot falter in his first fight, cannot take the chance of failure. He must stand victorious over his first opponent. So his training takes longer.  
  
“Your hour is up,” that voice by his ear speaks, the words hover just in front of him, a statement that lacks a conclusion. He doesn’t move yet, just waits for further instruction.  
  
“I am not satisfied with your performance tonight, you brought outside interference. Before you leave you will run the gauntlet through, and if I do not deem your performance outstanding, you will spend another hour on the nails.”  
  
That’s fair.  
  
He flexes stiff fingers against the steel bars at his side, taut muscles supporting his weight as he lifts his legs up and leaps forward onto the cool stone floor. He springs ahead, a bolt across the hall, ignores the tingling in his feet that would trip up a lesser man. Momentum carries him a few steps up the sheer face of the wall and he twists his body in midair, arms outstretched to catch the steel rings that hang ten feet above the floor. The muscles of his shoulders scream in a pleasurable symphony of exertion as he pulls himself up into a perfect iron cross, repeating the movement ten times before dropping to the floor and springing towards his next station.  
  
Navigating the obstacle course that spans the perimeter of the training hall is his favourite activity. It’s the ultimate test of his endurance and strength and every time he runs he competes with himself. Every run he improves something, adds one more repetition, shaves one more second off his time. He runs the course like his very life depends upon the outcome.  
  
Tonight is no different.  
  
“A whole two seconds faster,” his trainer says approvingly, “perhaps I ought to whip you more often.”  
  
Hanbin keeps his expression neutral, because praise is not meant to make him feel good. It’s meant to ascertain that he is continually improving.  
  
His trainer nods once at him. “You may go. Mind you do not return distracted again tomorrow, or I will keep you here through the night.”  
  
Hanbin bows to the older man in deference, finally releases the crow’s view from his mind’s eye as he straightens back up. As he is about to turn to the door he is greeted by approaching steps, the click of brass on stone afforded to only one person within their halls.  
  
His father.  
  
“Did I hear correctly?” He asks, “two seconds shaved off your best time?”  
  
Hanbin bows to his father, controlled breaths despite screaming lungs. _Composure_ is an important part of his training. “Yes, father.” He straightens again and meets his gaze, and both of them wear carefully guarded expressions.  
  
To any who don’t know them, they exude an air of cold aloofness. But Hanbin is well versed in reading his father’s eyes by now, and he can see the hint of pride in them. When you spend your whole life chasing after something, you learn to see the signs that lay hidden from you in plain view.  
  
“I come bearing good news, despite the ill omens of the day,” he begins, and Hanbin can feel the excitement build in his chest, his back straight as he waits for his father to continue speaking, waits for the news he’s been yearning to hear over the past two years. “Your naming day will proceed as planned. You are ready to join the elite.”  
  
Hanbin allows himself a rare smile, and though he’ll never show it he feels like collapsing from sheer joy. “Have you chosen my name already?”  
  
“Of course I have,” his father replies, the pride in his eyes evident now, “but you will not badger it out of me before it’s time to reveal it properly.”  
  
 _Naming Day_ is a tradition among his family, passed down through generations of fighters. The parent chooses a pit name for their child when they are deemed ready to begin competing. His family has long taken names after ancient Roman generals—his father has ruled over the fighting pit for twenty years now, bearing the name _Germanicus._ Hanbin can’t remember a day of his life when he did not long to receive his name, but he has been careful to not go looking at names yet unclaimed. He doesn’t want to get attached to one only to be given another.  
  
“We will hold the ceremony in three days. You will fight this coming Sunday.”  
  
Hanbin can feel the fire rising in his chest, feels as though he could spew flames across the hall. Fights occur on a weekly basis, yet Sunday fights happen but once a month, and are reserved for the truly important matches. He knew his debut would come on a Sunday, his father’s reputation is too high to call for anything else. He bows again. “Thank you, father. I look forward to proving myself worthy of your name.”  
  
“And I look forward to watching,” his father replies, “but for now I require your aid in another matter.”  
  
The subject is dropped as quickly as it had been broached, and they leave the hall together, walking side by side to their private elevator. The Legion occupies one of the tallest buildings in Seoul, a complex that has been fortified from the inside over the past few decades. The bottom floors have been repurposed into training facilities and mock battle pits. His immediate family resides on the uppermost floor, while the floor directly below them has been converted into a state-of-the-art engineering lab, where their team of top designers and developers engineer improvements to their battle gear.  
  
Hanbin has his own personal engineer, Yunhyeong, the son of his father’s engineer. They have been friends since Hanbin’s birth, or at least as close to a friend as Hanbin has been allowed to have. His father believes that growing into their respective positions at the same time has allowed them to forge a tighter bond, and Hanbin agrees. There are not many people he holds close to his heart, because just as there is strength in numbers, there is also vulnerability. Yunhyeong is one of those few.  
  
They don’t speak until they are inside the elevator, riding to the top floor.  
  
“What is it you require my aid with?”  
  
“I want you to help me pick out a new cat for your sister.”  
  
Hanbin looks at him in surprise. “That’s an unexpected request.” Also an unexpected gift. He must have his reasons.  
  
His father meets his eyes, holding the curious gaze. “You know I am no tyrant,” he says calmly, “but truth be told, I fear that if I do not replace the cat, your sister may develop an aversion to forming attachments. That is not my end goal. Our pets are valued members of our family, but she will learn that there are some things we cannot admit in public.”  
  
“I understand,” Hanbin replies, and he understands more than what is being spoken aloud. “It is also important for her to learn that anyone is replaceable.” His father is compassionate, is his own way, but there is always a lesson to be learned in every course of action. Hanbin has come to recognize this over the years.  
  
“Indeed,” his father regards him with a half smile, “but first-borns are harder to replace, so mind you never falter.”  
  
Hanbin actually grins, an expression he rarely wears. He appreciates the comment, not just for the teasing aspect, but also for the honesty. He is his father’s only son, and there is an unshakeable bond there, no matter how lacking they are in observable affection. “Speaking of my not-replacement, how close is Junhoe to his naming day?”  
  
Junhoe is Hanbin’s only other friend, who is more like a brother. They have been together since birth, though Junhoe is not a blood relative. His father was a formidable fighter in his time but had fallen victim to an assassination plot carried out by a lower family when Junhoe was only a young boy.  
  
So Hanbin’s father had adopted him out of loyalty to his fallen friend, raising him alongside his own son, as though Junhoe were his flesh and blood. He has always been held to a different set of standards, though.  
  
“I will hold his naming day not long after yours, I feel that he is ready.”  
  
“He will be pleased to hear that,” Hanbin replies, satisfied with the extra good news. They have been training together their entire lives, and though he will always overshadow Junhoe, he does not want to leave him behind. If Junhoe had not been adopted into their immediate family he would have been allowed to enter the pit two years ago to begin fighting.  Though he is no blood relative, his father still affords him the respect of playing one, and for that Hanbin has always been grateful. Both he and Junhoe will be presented to the crowd as sons.  
  
“I expect he will be,” his father says, “don’t tell him, though. I want to announce your day first, see if he complains.”  
  
Hanbin grins again—he can hear the amusement in his father’s tone. Junhoe has always been allowed to get away with cruder behaviour, has never been held to the same exceptionally high standard Hanbin has been held to. Sometimes he wonders if his father doesn’t encourage the rude and crass behaviour as a way to show the difference between his birth son and his adopted son. Blood still counts for much at the end of the day.  
  
“Have you picked his name yet?” Hanbin asks.  
  
“I thought you and I might pick it together,” his father offers, “he is to be your second, after all, it’s only fair you should have a say.”  
  
Hanbin looks at him in surprise for the second time that night, touched by the offer. “Thank you, truly.” This is the sort of proof he holds dear to his heart, proof that his father cares for him deeply. He has spent every second of his life working to make him proud, and even if the man rarely speaks the words out loud, offers like this say more than any affectionate declaration possibly could.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about who to select as your first opponent,” his father says then, and Hanbin waits for his next words. He knows right and well who _he_ wants to face. “I believe there is only one option, if you wish to secure the revenge that you seek on your sister’s behalf.”  
  
 _Yes._ “A member of The Death Brigade.”  
  
“There is one member in particular whom I wish you to face.”  
  
Hanbin smiles, because there can be only one in this precise instance. “Stray Bullet?”  
  
His father smiles. “Yes. He has built himself a two year reputation as untouchable and the results are starting to go to his head. I have allowed him to prosper long enough. Now it’s time he tastes defeat.”  
  
The fighter who goes by the name _Stray Bullet_ is someone that Hanbin has spent a lot of time studying. He is hailed by many as the best fighter of the new generation, and has made no secret of his own desire to face Hanbin when he finally debuts in the pit. There is no debut Hanbin would wish to have more than this one. “I will bring him to utter ruination,” Hanbin says in a low whisper.  
  
“I do have one request when you fight him,” his father says, and they turn to face one another just as the elevator slides open.  
  
“Anything you ask, I will do.”  
  
“I know you wish to make a statement with your first fight,” his father says slowly, and Hanbin hangs on his every word, “and you will. But when you best him in combat, I ask that you not kill him.”  
  
The request is unexpected. While death is not a requirement in victory, it is a possibility, though it is something that does not happen as often now. It is usually reserved only for grudge matches, or as punishment when a faction leader has royally fucked up. “I will do as you wish, but will you tell me why?”  
  
His father offers him a rare smile. “I simply wish to see what his leader will do with him, after he fails in such a spectacular manner.”  
  
Hanbin is hit with sudden inspiration. “Do we still have the corpse of Hanbyul’s cat?”  
  
His father is still smiling. “Yes. I’ll ensure it remains preserved for your use.”  
  
Hanbin smiles back at him, plans setting into motion. “I’ll leave him alive, but he’ll be desecrated.”  
  
“What was it he called himself in his last interview?” His father asks, and Hanbin knows, because he studies everything.  
  
“The illegitimate son of God,” he answers with a laugh.  
  
“Unnecessarily dramatic,” his father says with a shake of the head, “they like to inflate their reputations to impossible proportions. You’ll bring them back down to Earth, the whole gang of them. Remind them that The Death Brigade will always be nothing more than gutter rats who belong in the street with the rest of the trash.”  
  
Hanbin feels consumed with eagerness, his skin tingling in exhilarated thrill. He will do exactly as his father asks of him. He will single-handedly crush the uprising of this group, remind them what happened the last time they thought themselves too self-important.  
  
It will be the greatest debut fight of anyone in his family. He’ll become legendary from his first appearance. This is what he was born for.

* * *

  _[there is no one above me here, luxury life not my style, i love mud, it makes me high, i only smile when i bite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zf99kdFw9b8)                                                
_                                                                     "Грустная Сука ( _Sad Bitch_ )" IC3PEAK

  
“Check out this shock spear I found.”  
  
BZZZZTT!  
  
“FUCK! What the hell?!” Kim Donghyuk rubs his arm, glaring at the cackling figure of Kim Jiwon, who’s standing behind the couch, out of reach, brandishing a new toy he’s picked up. “Where the fuck did you get that?”  
  
“Found it on the street,” Jiwon replies with a smirk, purposefully vague, before he zaps Donghyuk a second time, who leaps over the couch to tackle him down to the floor, knees and elbows smacking him painfully.  
  
“Give it to me!” Donghyuk yells, and they wrestle for the spear, a tangle of limbs, Donghyuk willed on by pure anger and irritation, Jiwon out of nothing more than sheer amusement and a desire to keep harassing him.  
  
“I found it, it’s mine!” Jiwon states, prying Donghyuk’s fingers back as far as they go until he finally relents his grip. He sits up and shocks Donghyuk a third time, for fun, only to receive a heavy boot to the shoulder in retaliation. They stare at each other for a few seconds, each nursing minor aches that will recede in minutes. Bickering is what they do best.  
  
“I heard about the Legion’s cat,” Donghyuk says suddenly, a curious expression taking over now that the momentary rage has subsided. “Was that your handy work?”  
  
“No,” Jiwon says with a grin, “but I did watch. That cat was a fighter, we should have kept it instead. Jiho has scratches all down his arm from it.”  
  
Donghyuk smirks and sits on the back of the couch, his booted feet hovering an inch off the floor. “Do you think we’ll see any retaliation for it?”  
  
“I fuckin’ hope so,” Jiwon replies, getting back to his feet, “any excuse to cause some more mayhem with those rich assholes.”  
  
Donghyuk nods in agreement. “It’s been too quiet lately, I wanna do something.”  
  
“Like what?” Jiwon asks, before crouching down into a low fighting stance, prodding empty space with the spear.  
  
Donghyuk shrugs. “I don’t know, torch a car? One of their flashy ones.”  
  
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Bobby huffs, “I haven’t seen them using those old cars anymore, I’ve been looking. I think they officially switched their whole fleet over to the armoured ones. Like they’re fuckin’ afraid of us.” He grins at Donghyuk, who grins back, because they know that they specifically are part of the reason why The Legion has increased their vehicular safety. Three months ago they’d rigged a bomb that took out two of those vehicles, old muscle cars that screamed _‘Look at me, I’m fucking rich!’_ They’d been rewarded well for it at the time.  
  
“I’m jealous I wasn’t there today,” Donghyuk switches the topic again, his face pulled down in a sulky frown.  
  
“I told you to come!” Jiwon chides him, “woke you up three times but your lazy ass didn’t want to get out of bed.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He watches Jiwon for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Actually it’s _your_ fault, for keeping me awake last night with your annoying ass sleep talking.”  
  
Jiwon grins and stabs at Donghyuk’s bare calf with the spear, laughing when he barely manages to lift his leg out of the way. If he’d wanted to shock him again he could have, but he’d moved slowly on purpose. “Wear those stupid earplugs then, I went out of my way to get them for you. You never use them.”  
  
Donghyuk frowns at the mention of Jiwon’s latest _gift._ He and Jiwon have been together since they were children, a brotherhood forged in the fires of necessity and desperation. He’d been six when he’d watched his parents gunned down while vending at their street stall, his father’s blood spraying across his face, into his mouth when he screamed. Jiwon had been eight, and he’d been right there with his own family. Somehow the bullets missed him despite being in the open. Their eyes had met then, the two sole survivors, and seconds later when the shooting started again they’d huddled together behind the metal cart, too terrified to cry. When the battle finally ended there had been no one there to collect them, no one to take care of them. The landlord of their building _did not take in strays_ and with no money to pay rent, they both found themselves with nowhere to go but the street itself.  
  
There had been a time, once, when they used to celebrate their birthdays and holidays with gifts that had some level of emotion to them. But that was before they’d been picked up. Before they’d been taken in by an unlikely benefactor. Emotions quickly became an inconvenience when they’d started their training.  
  
Now Jiwon gifts him with earplugs and tells him to stop complaining about the nighttime distractions. But Donghyuk can’t be angry about the earplugs. Only a month prior he’d gifted Jiwon with a ball gag, to keep him from talking while he slept.  
  
As with all the gifts they give one another, they never use them, simply out of spite. Donghyuk only sleeps well if he manages to fall asleep before Jiwon.  
  
“Are you fighting this week?” Donghyuk asks, changing the topic.  
  
“I should be,” he replies, “my name is in, but I haven’t had an opponent set yet.” Most matches for the weekend have been set already, the slots for Friday and Saturday already full. There are only fights left on Sunday now to fill, and it’s been a while since he’s had the privilege of fighting on Sunday. Nothing important enough has come up.  
  
“I guess they must be trying to find someone to make a good fight,” Donghyuk replies, and they soon find themselves sporting matching grins. They may bicker the majority of the time they’re together, but they’re loyal when it comes to The Pit. You don’t spend half a decade together in the streets, fighting stray dogs and rats for territory only to turn on one another when you finally find a bed to sleep in.  
  
“I wonder when that fucking Legion brat is gonna start fighting?” Jiwon says, and it’s a popular topic of discussion. _Germanicus’_ _son_ is someone they all want to get their hands on, because snuffing out that life would raise them up as high as they could go. Jiwon’s been dreaming about getting the opportunity. He’s been fighting for two years now, _undefeated,_ so he hopes that when the time comes that maybe, if he plays his cards right, maybe he might be the one that Jiyong names for the glory of the fight.  
  
He just wants to look Germanicus in the eyes after he’s snapped his son’s neck. Or choked him to death. Jiwon hasn’t decided yet how he’d like to kill him, but it’s something he often fantasizes about. Because he was there two years ago during that deadly fight. He’d watched from a close seat as Germanicus had cut right into the chest of their group’s former leader, the man who’d saved he and Donghyuk from the streets. Jiwon has never forgiven Germanicus. He never will.  
  
“It should be soon, isn’t he turning 20 this year?” Donghyuk asks, and while he’d love to fight the guy himself, he’d never want to take the opportunity away from Jiwon. Not when he’s been fantasizing about it for two whole years.  
  
“Yeah I think so, if what the reports say is true. I wouldn’t put it past The Legion to alter his birth record if he’s not ready to fight.” The Pit employs a strict rule that fighters must begin their careers by age 20, or they forfeit their right to compete. In a world dominated by fighting, most fighters start their careers at 18, the youngest possible age. But The Legion like to delay their important fighters, the _Named Ones_ , until they’re ready to headline fight cards. Jiwon thinks it’s a bitch move, something they do because they’re afraid.  
  
“I’m starving, do you think dinner’s ready yet?” Donghyuk asks suddenly, and Jiwon shrugs.  
  
“I don’t know, let’s go check. If it’s gonna be a while let’s go out and get something.” He carries the spear with him, not ready yet to relinquish it to the armoury. That’s their rule—if you find something on the street, it becomes group property. Jiwon wants to test it out a bit more, though.  
  
After stopping by the kitchens for an update about the food situation, they decide to head out to grab something now rather than wait another hour. There’s a diner they like to frequent two blocks away, where the owner always lets them eat for free. He’d tried to charge them extra after a meal one time, but then Jiwon had started breaking his fingers until he’d offered to wipe their tab.  
  
He walks down the street with the spear still in his hands, and the constant hum of the electric charge it carries is soothing. It makes him feel like the spear is an extension of his arm, like the energy runs through his own veins. He wishes his team could engineer something like that. Wishes he could shock people with his bare hands, wants to fall asleep at night to the electric hum of his own skin.  
  
Sometimes he fantasizes about being a robot. Or half a robot, at least. Synthetic skin feels like the answer, it would keep him from being too hot in the summer, and too cold in the winter. All he’d need is his brain. He could replace everything else.  
  
“What do you think would happen if I cut off one of my arms and replaced it with a synthetic arm?” He directs the question at Donghyuk and holds out his left arm. He’s right handed, so if he’s going to start he might as well start with the weaker arm.  
  
Donghyuk snorts at the question. “Why the fuck would you want a synthetic arm?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” He shoots back, glare settling on Donghyuk, who’s not even looking at him. He jabs the end of the spear against him, grinning when Donghyuk swears and clutches his forearm.  
  
“Fucking quit it! You should have turned that thing in to the armoury by now, you’re gonna catch shit from Jiyong.” Donghyuk glares at him with a jealous rage smoldering in his eyes.  
  
Jiwon twirls the spear in his hands, happy to show it off. “If I had a synthetic arm, I wouldn’t need the spear! I could just walk right up to you, touch your back, and send you spasming onto the ground.”  
  
“Well if you’re looking for someone to cut your arm off, I volunteer!” Donghyuk replies, cracking his knuckles.  
  
Jiwon stares at him for a few seconds before suddenly tossing him the spear. Donghyuk’s expression changes into one of glee, but he doesn’t turn the spear on Jiwon when he holds it. It’s one of their unwritten rules. Physical fights between them are only ever started by Jiwon, since he’s older. He watches as Donghyuk tries some fancy moves on the sidewalk, sidestepping pedestrians with bowed heads who refuse to look at them.  
  
That’s the way it should be, in Jiwon’s opinion. These people don’t deserve to look at them, they shouldn’t feel like they’re on the same level.  
  
He and Donghyuk, they’re from _The Death Brigade._  
  
People _should_ be afraid of them.

* * *

  
They’re just getting back to base after their meal when Jiwon’s earpiece crackles to life and a brusque voice snaps a command into his ear.  
  
 _“Jiwon, to me immediately.”_  
  
His eyes light up in excitement. Has his match finally been set, then? That’s what he’s assuming.  
  
“Jiyong just called me. Turn that spear in for me!” Jiwon says as he takes off at a run, leaving Donghyuk behind. His feet pound the packed dirt as he sprints across the compound, heading for the headquarters building near the back. Their base has doubled in size since he and Donghyuk were brought in eight years ago, and as time goes by they continue to gain property from those in their neighbourhood. Mostly by force.  
  
They might be nothing more than a street gang to some, but with Jiyong at the helm, things have really picked up. Jiwon still misses their old leader sometimes, because Teddy had been more at home in the dirt, fighting by torchlight under the stars. Jiyong has his eyes set on rising higher than his status, though, thinks he should be brushing shoulders in the upper district with politicians and the wealthy  
  
Of course, they _are_ wealthy these days, but it’s frowned upon wealth, stolen wealth.  
  
That doesn’t bother Jiwon, because when you start out in life and have important things stolen away from you, you don’t worry about continuing the theft. You do what you have to do.  
  
He hurries into the building, climbing the stairs up to Jiyong’s second floor office. He doesn’t bother to knock, just opens the door and walks in. Jiyong’s boot-clad feet are up on his desk and he’s leaning back in his chair, reading something on his phone. Jiwon drops into a chair in front of his desk, his eyes on Jiyong’s face.  
  
While Jiwon had preferred Teddy’s day-to-day attitude towards life, he can’t deny that Jiyong’s ruthless sense of self-entitlement commands more respect from those below him (himself included). Teddy had always given off the sense that he was one of the crew, that he led the charge because they’d all agreed that he should.  
  
Jiyong leads them now because he’s taken it for himself, hadn’t waited for anyone to give their opinion. He’d made the decision that night, two years ago, as he watched Teddy’s chest ripped open in the pit, watched as Germanicus himself plunged his hand under the skin and squeezed the life out of him.  
  
Jiyong is the only one of them who can lead now. He’s the only one untouched enough, the only one with his head on straight.  
  
Jiwon might not like him that much, but he respects him more than he’s ever respected anyone.  
  
Jiyong finally finishes reading and looks up to meet Jiwon’s expectant gaze. “You’re fully fit, correct?”  
  
Jiwon nods, eyes gleaming in excitement. “Fully fit.”  
  
“That’s good,” Jiyong says, nodding as he looks Jiwon over, “I’ve finally received word of your opponent for this weekend. Wanted to make sure I wouldn’t have to make a substitution.”  
  
Jiwon bounces his legs eagerly, too much energy to be contained while sitting down. Jiyong’s question can only mean one thing. Jiyong never questions his fitness before a match, because they’re all expected to fight and win no matter their condition. It’s part of their reputation. The Death Brigade fears no injury. “Is it someone worthy?” He asks, even though he knows it is.  
  
Jiyong’s face is neutral, like it always is. Jiwon has never seen him express any emotion. “Your match is getting top billing this week.”  
  
It’s all Jiwon can do to stay in his seat, because he’s so excited he wants to trash Jiyong’s office, his fingers itching to start throwing things at the wall, a scream of jubilation building up in his chest. Excitement always brings out his destructive qualities. “I will crush whoever they send to me with my bare hands, boss!”  
  
“You’d better,” Jiyong says, his voice controlled, “Germanicus’ son is making his long-awaited debut.”  
  
He stares at Jiyong in silence for a few seconds, because even though he’d _known,_ Jiyong has confirmed it, and this is the moment Jiwon feels like he’s been waiting his entire life for. “Are you fucking shitting me? I get him already?”  
  
Jiyong’s eyes narrow slightly. “I hope I don’t have to stress to you the importance of this match. This is two years in the making, Jiwon. This is revenge, and you are lucky I am gifting it to you instead of taking it for myself.”  
  
Jiwon knows he should control his reaction better, that Jiyong doesn’t appreciate the outbursts the way Teddy used to. “I know, boss, I’ve been waiting for this match. I can’t wait to smash that brat’s face in.” Two years of constant fighting, two years of dismantling opponents. Now he finally gets to _do something_ with that reputation. He gets to cement their position at the top, gets to tell the whole fucking world who they are.  
  
“Do not underestimate him, Jiwon. There is a reason that Legion Names take the extra two years before they debut. They have a reputation to uphold, and that is not something to be taken lightly,” Jiyong lectures, and usually Jiwon hates hearing it, hates listening to someone rehash shit he already knows. But he doesn’t mind today. The excitement is too high.  
  
“Of course, boss.”  
  
“This is the son of Germanicus himself, his first born,” Jiyong repeats, “you _must_ destroy him. Am I clear?” Jiyong’s eyes are doing that thing they do that Jiwon still doesn’t understand—the irises look like they’re on fire. Maybe, when he wins his match, Jiyong will let him get an eye modification. Jiwon wants flames in his eyes too. Thinks he deserves it.  
  
“Absolutely. I promise I will stand over his corpse and piss on his face.”  
  
Jiyong doesn’t respond to the insult, but his eyes narrow, and Jiwon knows he shouldn’t have pushed that far. He needs to be more serious in order to placate Jiyong.  
  
“We know nothing about him, Jiwon, they have kept him hidden for a reason. You are walking into this fight blind, while he will know everything about you. You must exercise caution, for the first time in your career. Don’t make me regret my choice.”  
  
Jiwon holds his breath then and focuses, his expression serious. He can’t chance Jiyong taking the opportunity away from him. This is what he’s been waiting for, after all. Not just for two years, but for thirteen. His life drastically changed course on the day that he lost his family, and now is his time to ascend into Godhood.  
  
“You won’t regret anything, boss. I’ll deliver.”  
  
“You’d better. Because if you lose, Jiwon?” Jiyong pauses, and the flames in his eyes intensify, “if you lose? You’d better hope he kills you.” Jiyong speaks the threat calmly, but his eyes convey the malice behind the words, and Jiwon can't bring himself to reply.  
  
Jiyong's point is made, though.  
  
The only acceptable outcome is victory, and in victory will come the death of his biggest rival. There can be only one top fighter among their generation, and there's no way in hell that Jiwon is going to let some kid who's spent the past two years hiding from him swoop in and take his place.  
  
He'll fight Germanicus' son this coming Sunday, and he'll rip him limb from limb while his father watches.


	2. The Politics of Journalism

_We can’t have a discussion regarding signature styles in fighting without mentioning the league leaders, of course. Given the ever-changing field of weaponry and technology available now during combat, it’s surely a testament to their training regime that The Death Brigade have continued to fight with consistency regarding their in-pit style. Regardless of opponent you will never see a member change anything—every fight will be a flurry of raging aggression, like a volcano spewing hot lava in your face after the pressure is released. There’s no concern for bodily harm, no calculation or second guesses. They fight until they cannot stand, and even on the floor would still nip at your heels if you got too close._ _  
_ _  
_ _It is a style best suited and most recognized in shining star Stray Bullet. Current record-holder for the quickest finish to a fight at forty seven seconds, he is a veteran already at only two years, besting some of the biggest names in the game. But if you were to watch his fights closely, with the sharpness of a hawk’s eye, you’ll notice that there may just be something different with this one, compared to the other members of his group. Where they toss themselves around the ring with all the danger of a ticking time bomb, Stray Bullet fights under the illusion of lack of control, uses it to mask the precise skill he has. Opponents and critics may say otherwise, but anyone with a true understanding of the sport (and those immune to price tags and bribery) can see it for truth. There has been no debut like his for twenty years, not since Germanicus himself first swept through the arena, and that must be a bitter pill for The Legion to swallow._ _  
_ _(EDITING TEAM- DONT U DARE REMOVE MY LINE ABOUT BRIBERY!!!!!!!!-KJ)_   
  
Kim Jinhwan sits back in his chair and stretches, arms up over his head, back arched, eyes closed. He holds the pose and breathes deeply, repeating the motions a few times to clear his head. When he opens his eyes he sends his article off to his boss, barely skirting his submission deadline. Again. But that’s the price he pays for getting too wrapped up in other leads, for spending his night out pretending to drink with his main suspect instead of writing his article and actually sleeping. The topic was easy, at least.   
  
He closes his laptop and stands up, leaning against the railing of the balcony and looking down into the already bustling street. It’s just past seven in the morning and the streets are full of people, scurrying like worker ants. He waits for the vibrating roar of the first commuter skytrain overhead, watches as it speeds over the neighbourhood, casting a long shadow against the buildings across from him. When he’d first moved into the apartment with his brother it had taken him a full month to adjust to the trains, constantly waking when they sped by. His brother had adapted in three days.   
  
The trains are a welcome presence now, they’re a part of his morning routine, the precursor to a hot cup of coffee. They make him feel connected to the city in a way that little else does. He checks his phone for messages but doesn’t see anything so he grabs his laptop and heads back into the quiet apartment. His brother is standing at the stove, so Jinhwan sneaks down the hall to his room. When they’d first moved into the apartment four years ago Jinhwan had thrown his best angry tantrum fit until he’d gotten the larger bedroom, despite not contributing to the rent at the time. It had been easier, back then, to push his brother around, because Jinwoo was always exhausted from working long shifts at the hospital, and there was still that lingering guilt over their parents...   
  
But it’s been a year since Jinwoo has been dating this cop, Seunghoon, and his quiet and polite brother is now on a slow descent into utter tyranny. Five months ago Jinhwan had disappeared for a week following a lead (not the first time he’s done it) but that was the last straw for Jinwoo. He can still remember the burning rage in his brother’s eyes when he’d strolled back into the apartment after that week, without a word, only to head for his bedroom and find Jinwoo’s furniture there. He’d quietly retreated down the hall to the smaller bedroom, where his furniture had been moved. They still haven’t talked about it, but Jinhwan has gotten better at sending his brother status updates now.   
  
Even though Jinhwan constantly butts heads with Seunghoon, he has to admit that he is good for Jinwoo, who needs the support. Jinhwan is confident the only reason Jinwoo hasn’t moved in with his boyfriend yet is because Jinwoo still has it in his head that he needs to look after his younger brother. But Jinhwan is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.   
  
He changes out of his sleeping attire and dresses in something more appropriate for the day. He’s got a meeting with a banker, an interview fluff piece to bolster the image of the banking industry, which has finally started a slow creep back up after two years in ill-repute. The banker’s rich, so Jinhwan’s going to try and stretch the interview out so he gets invited to lunch. He dresses up slightly, a pair of tailored black dress pants with matching suit jacket that he’s going to wear over a tank top so thin you can read his tattoos through it. He knows the banker has a weakness for pretty young people, regardless of gender, so he’s going to play up on his looks to get that lunch date.   
  
He makes his way back to the kitchen, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and isn’t surprised when Jinwoo marches over to him and grabs his arm.   
  
“Sit down and eat before you leave,” Jinwoo says sternly, shoving Jinhwan down into a chair around their small dining table. There’s already a plate waiting for him, some kind of omelet that has Jinhwan’s mouth watering. They haven’t had eggs in a while. Jinhwan wrinkles his nose in pretend disgust.   
  
“I’ll eat at the office.”   
  
“You will not,” Jinwoo replies, holding a cup of coffee in his hands, just out of reach, “you’ll get sucked into your job and forget, like you always do. I’m not letting you go without food this morning.”   
  
Jinhwan eyes the cup of coffee with a sulking expression. “I miss the days before you got your promotion.”   
  
Jinwoo takes the bait. “You mean when I was dying, pulling fourteen hour shifts in the trauma wing every day?” He asks incredulously, and Jinhwan isn’t sure anymore why Jinwoo always sounds so surprised whenever he says hurtful things to him. Annoying Jinwoo is a genetic reflex as a younger brother. He can’t help himself.   
  
“Yeah,” Jinhwan replies cheekily, “you’d come home and collapse and wouldn’t shove your nose into my business. Can I have my coffee?”   
  
“Eat your food first,” Jinwoo snaps, clearly irritated, “you know I won’t always be around, right? What are you going to do if I’m not here to make your food and pay your bills on time? You’d fall apart.”   
  
Jinhwan rolls his eyes before picking up his utensils. “Can’t fall apart if you won’t even let me fall,” he replies with a sarcastic tone.   
  
Jinwoo’s fingers are tight around the coffee cup, like he’s trying not to hurl it at the wall. “I should do it, I should leave you on your own. You’ve never appreciated any of my help, I don’t know why I bother.”   
  
“I don’t need your help,” Jinhwan grumbles, cutting into the omelet, “I need you to give me my coffee and stop trying to be my mother. You’d think her spirit went into your body when she died, or something.” He probably shouldn’t have gone that far, but Jinwoo’s being a touch more overbearing than usual this morning, and Jinhwan has trouble dealing with it.   
  
“Well you can’t blame me!” Jinwoo yells, “I’m a nurse, Jinhwan, of course I’m going to mother you when I can see, plain as day all over your face, how little you sleep and eat. You need to take better care of yourself, otherwise you might end up at my hospital one day!”   
  
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Jinhwan replies, taking a bite of the omelet. It’s delicious, of course, but he’ll pretend otherwise. Just to be annoying.   
  
“You cannot compare our jobs! I worked all those long hours actually _doing something,_ saving people’s lives!” Jinwoo’s voice has risen again, Jinhwan can sense the underlying argument that he could have prevented, if only he didn’t feel constantly compelled to needle his brother.   
  
“Don’t you dare belittle my job!” Jinhwan yells back, even though he’d technically started the whole thing. “My work is useful too!”   
  
Jinwoo laughs. “Useful? For what? Driving up ticket prices for that barbaric fighting ring? Lining someone else’s pockets?”   
  
“That’s not fair!” Jinhwan yells back, actually insulted.   
  
“I save lives, Jinan! You celebrate the loss of them.” Jinwoo is so angry he slams the coffee down on the table and crosses his arms, glaring eyes not leaving Jinhwan’s head.   
  
They’re at an impasse and Jinhwan doesn’t have time for it. He takes another bite of the omelet and chews, his mouth full when he tells his brother in garbled speech how good it tastes. Jinwoo’s glare hardens for a second before softening again.   
  
“Don’t bother complimenting my cooking if I can’t actually understand what you’re saying.”   
  
Jinhwan grins and reaches for the coffee, taking a sip and keeping his hands around the warm mug. “I don’t just write about the fights, you know,” he says softly, because they’re both done yelling for now, “I’ve actually been working on a really big story.”   
  
“Are you?” Jinwoo replies, slightly annoyed but not irate, at least. “You should write a story on how many kids I see at the hospital, with injuries they get from imitating those fights you love.”   
  
Jinhwan rolls his eyes and doesn’t take the bait. “I’m working on exposing a smuggling ring.”   
  
“Good luck with getting anyone to care about that,” Jinwoo replies with a frown, “drugs are so commonplace these days, it’s barely a story anymore.”   
  
“Not drug smuggling,” Jinhwan replies before taking another sip of coffee, “people smuggling.”   
  
Jinwoo raises an eyebrow, intrigued already. “What kind of people?”   
  
Jinhwan smiles back at him and shakes his head. “Can’t say, don’t want to compromise my story.”   
  
Jinwoo shakes his head. “If you actually care about the victims you should talk to Seunghoon and report it, let the police investigate.”   
  
“I can’t do that, Jinu, that’s not how these things work. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a few unlucky people to get into the bigger story.” Jinhwan takes another bite of his food and doesn’t look at his brother. He and Jinwoo have always held conflicting opinions when it comes to topics of morality. Jinwoo sees everything in black and white, and thinks that Jinhwan sees it all in shades of grey. His brother’s wrong. He sees everything in vivid colour. That’s half the reason he barely sleeps anymore.   
  
“You could at least try to sound like you care about the people you’re refusing to help,” Jinwoo replies, in that disappointed tone of voice that used to work on Jinhwan, but doesn’t anymore.   
  
“What am I supposed to do? Call your boyfriend every time I get a lead on something? Word of that gets around and I might as well retire from my job. I’m already compromised enough being the brother of someone who dates a cop. I can’t actually associate with him myself.”   
  
Jinwoo waits until Jinhwan looks up, until he can look him in the eyes. His disappointed voice might not work so well anymore, but the disappointed stare usually works wonders. “You should treat them like actual people, Jinhwan, not just a headline.”   
  
Jinhwan looks back at his food, cutting another bite to cover the way Jinwoo’s disappointment actually hurts him. “You just don’t have the heart for investigative journalism, Jinu, and that’s fine. That’s why you’re the nurse who saves everyone, and I’m just the journalist who writes about it.”   
  
Jinwoo sighs and quietly watches as Jinhwan eats the rest of his meal. “Just be careful with your _investigative journalism,_ I don’t want to see you end up in my ward.”   
  
Jinhwan smiles back at him but they both know it’s fake, because he’s tired of hearing the same warning. “How is your ward, anyway? How does it feel, supervising a bunch of robots being trained to replace you?”   
  
Jinwoo’s expression pinches slightly. “They’re not robots.”   
  
“They are definitely robots,” Jinhwan replies with a smirk, “you can use whatever fancy term you want for them, but we both know what they are and it creeps me out that they’re actually replacing people with robots at the hospital.”   
  
“They’re not replacing anyone,” Jinwoo replies sternly, “they are augmenting a workforce that is stretched way too thin. Synthetics don’t tire the way people do, they can work a 20 hour operation with no breaks and be ready to do a second. I’ve worked a few procedures that went that long, and it is utterly exhausting. You need days to recover, but of course with a never-ending influx of patients you don’t get that time.”   
  
“You can train them up all you want, but they don’t have our capacity for real-time assessment! You’ve said it yourself before, textbooks don’t always have the answer. And your robots always do everything by the book.” Jinhwan takes another sip of coffee and watches his brother, whose fingers are flexing constantly, like he wants to pick something up and throw it.   
  
“Yes, and that is precisely why I am there to supervise,” Jinwoo replies, his tone rising again. “It’s working out really well, for your information. It’s going to be a huge help to the hospital staff, so I’m sorry if our mental health and quality of life isn’t important enough for you to get over your _concerns_ about being attended to by an artificial lifeform.” Their eyes meet for a staring contest, Jinwoo’s full of fire, Jinhwan’s full of stubborness.   
  
“But my work isn’t the concern right now,” Jinwoo eventually says, “we’re talking about you, and how worried I am about you.”   
  
Jinhwan waves the concern off. “I already told you not to worry about me, I’m doing quite well for myself. I don’t mind giving up a little sleep and a few meals in order to break this story. I already have a great reputation for all my work on the fights, but I want to elevate myself higher than that. This smuggling ring will really break me through into the upper echelon of journalism, okay? I’ll get a promotion and more pay, so you won’t have to worry about me.”   
  
“I recognize that and I am proud of you for going after it,” Jinwoo replies, “but I’m still worried, and you don’t make my life any easier by being a stubborn, smartass brat about it all the time.”   
  
“I can’t help it, you’re my older brother, it’s genetic programming for me to be an immature asshole to you.” Jinhwan finishes his coffee and pushes his chair back from the table.   
  
“I accepted that when you were a teenager who was hurting when we lost our parents,” Jinwoo says, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable, “but you’re not a teenager anymore. I just can’t find it in myself to trust you to make good decisions for yourself, not when you act the way you do and fight me all the time. Would it kill you to mature? To not treat me like some evil jailer who’s making your life miserable?”   
  
Jinhwan bristles at the censure, mostly because he knows there’s a lot of truth in there. But instead of giving the request the respect it deserves, he shoots Jinwoo a playful smirk. “Yes, it probably would kill me. Can’t help my design!”   
  
“Jinhwan!”   
  
“You know the saying Jinu, our flaws are what makes us human. Without them we’d just be robots. You don’t want a robot for a brother, do you?” Jinhwan grabs his bag and stands up, heading over to the front door. “I gotta jet, I’m running late! Thanks for breakfast.”   
  
Jinwoo watches as he rises from the table and doesn’t even bother to take his dishes to the sink. It’s infuriating. “I’m going to tell Seunghoon about your case.”   
  
“Don’t you dare!” Jinhwan yells from the front door, bent over to pull boots on.   
  
“Promise me you’ll involve him?” Jinwoo stubbornly demands, refusing to just let him go without some kind of reassurance.   
  
“When the time is right, okay? This is a precarious situation, I need to take the utmost precaution to not blow my cover. Having a police tail would definitely put me in greater jeopardy than I’m currently in.” Jinhwan finishes lacing up his boots and stands up, glancing back at Jinwoo.   
  
“Call me later, okay?” Jinwoo says, twitching fingers clamped around his arms, fighting the urge to run over and hug his brother. Jinhwan might be the biggest source of aggravation in his life (well, second to asshole patients and asshole families) but he’s also the most important person in his life, and Jinwoo can’t help but constantly worry about him.   
  
“Why? To tell you what I’m having for lunch?” Jinhwan asks teasingly.   
  
Jinwoo smiles back at him. “Actually that would be nice, it’s surprisingly thoughtful of you.”   
  
“Well I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try!” Jinhwan replies. “Have a nice day at the hospital! Tell all your robot children than uncle Jinhwan says hello!”   
  
“Jinhwan!” Jinwoo yells in exasperation as he watches him slip out the door.   
  
“Love you!” Jinhwan yells before slamming the door shut behind him and running for the elevator. He’s got a ten o’clock appointment with the banker, but he has some things he needs to finish up at the office first, more deadlines he’s already pushing to the limit. The elevator door opens and he’s eye to eye with the older woman who lives directly above he and Jinwoo. She gives him the evil eye, no doubt having overheard a good portion of their arguing this morning. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s nosed her way into their business, after all.   
  
“Awful lot of yelling this morning,” she says by way of greeting, and Jinhwan just smiles back at her.   
  
“Don’t you worry yourself about us, Mrs. Lee, we might argue a lot but Jinwoo and I are perfectly fine.” He shoves his hand in his pocket, fingers fiddling with his keys.   
  
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” the elderly woman snaps back, “it’s your neighbours! You know young Mrs. Park is expecting any day now, and the two of you yelling early in the morning! You watch yourselves when she brings that baby home, or so help me God…”   
  
Jinhwan can’t help but grin at the threat from this old lady. It’s kind of endearing. “We’ll do our best, Mrs. Lee.” No one else gets on the elevator so his escape from the lecture comes quickly and the second the doors slide apart he rushes out of the building, leaving the old woman behind.   
  
He hurries his way two blocks over to the nearest skytrain station, dodging his way around people on the sidewalk. His breath comes out in puffs in the chilly morning air, especially since he’s walking on the shadowy side of the street, the sun not yet high enough to hit the pavement. He has a habit of not dressing for the weather, finds it tends to endear him to his contacts if he shows up shivering with pink cheeks. Jinwoo would hate it if he realized how often he did it.   
  
The station is packed with people, but he uses his smaller frame to slip through the crowd, taking advantage of open spaces here and there to get closer to the front of the queue. Occasionally he’ll talk to people like he knows them, just to keep people behind him from angrily pointing out that he’s cutting the line. He’s gotten good at crowd manipulation.   
  
He stands behind a woman with a little girl, who’s probably 4 or 5, hair in braids and wearing a Pokemon backpack. A train pulls into the station then and Jinhwan follows the pair inside, taking the only open seat that’s across from them. The car fills up and pulls away soon, and Jinhwan spends the ride to the office thinking about his smuggling case. He likes to contemplate cases or stories in noisy settings like this, because sometimes overhearing snippets of conversation jogs his brain down paths it wouldn’t normally venture, and that’s exactly how he’s made some of his best connections.   
  
_“Well, what am I supposed to do with her now? You were my last resort, you can’t bail on me like this! I can’t bring her to work with me, I’ll get another reprimand. Are you sure you don’t know anyone else?”_   
  
His eyes flit back to the mother, who’s speaking in a panicked rush into her phone. The child is blissfully unaware of the situation, on her knees looking out the window. She’d be a prime target for his smuggling ring, there’s good money to be made off of young children. He hasn’t made a connection between his group and adoption smuggling yet, but he’s sure one exists. There are always couples willing to pay a fortune to adopt _orphans._   
  
_“I can’t just leave her at a playground! Are you insane? What kind of option is that?”_   
  
The playground… He pulls his phone out and opens up a map he’s created, marked with abductions and missing people. He looks at all the nearby neighbourhood landmarks and sure enough, there are always playgrounds nearby.   
  
Might be worth looking into.   
  
The woman and her daughter get off two stops before Jinhwan does, and he hopes she manages to find somewhere to put the girl for the day that’s safe. He doesn’t want to end up on her doorstep, there to write an article about a grieving mother pleading for her child’s return. He looks over his shoulder out the window, at the top floors of buildings that the train runs parallel to. He can’t help but smirk when he thinks of how angry some of the patrons must have been when the trains were first constructed. To have a once nice view of the sprawl of the city, blocked by high speed trains.   
  
_“I just got on the sky, I gotta go, but we’re still on for tonight? Yeah I have the product, been holding it since yesterday. It needs to move, so you gotta come for it tonight. 8 sharp, I got places to be.”_   
  
Jinhwan doesn’t turn his head but he does listen in rapt attention to the conversation. Risky business, conducting drop offs on the phone in public, and he makes a mental note of the address the guy says and thinks about sending Seunghoon a message about it, just to shut Jinwoo up.   
  
Two minutes later and he’s leaving the train, eyes on his phone. He never takes calls when he’s travelling, blames it on the loud voices and paranoia about being overheard. He’s got three missed calls, which is a little much for this early in the morning. One of them is from his boss and he frowns when he listens to the message, but it’s simple.   
  
_Come and see me as soon as you get in! This is priority._   
  
He’s never been summoned with such pressing concern before, so it has him wondering what’s going on. Maybe a new assignment? If it was just general dislike of his article he wouldn’t bother, he’d just get the editing team to fix it up as much as possible. So when he enters the building he heads for the third floor, nodding to a few coworkers along the way but not stopping for his usual chit chat. He enters the corner office with the beautiful view of the garden outside and waits to be acknowledged. His boss sits behind a large oak desk, glasses perched on his nose as he reads. Jinhwan knows for a fact that Mr. Yoo doesn’t actually require the glasses—he’s got perfect eyesight. He just wears them for vanity reasons, thinks they make him look more distinguished.   
  
“Take a seat,” the editor-in-chief instructs, and Jinhwan does that, sinking down into the velvet-cushioned arm chair. They’re actually quite unpleasant to sit in, though they look nice. It’s a power move, of course—even when you’re invited in, Mr. Yoo doesn’t want you to feel comfortable. Jinhwan understands all about social politics, though.   
  
“Did you like my article?” He asks, trying to gauge the older man’s mood. He looks serious but not angry, so there’s little chance Jinhwan’s here to be scolded. Must be a new assignment, then. He hopes it doesn’t interfere with his lunch plans.   
  
“I didn’t read it,” Mr. Yoo starts, “but I called you up here to talk about it anyway. I need you to scrap it and get me something fresh for tomorrow morning’s print.”   
  
Jinhwan’s glad he’s not holding anything, because he probably would have thrown it at the wall. He’d only slept for two hours to get that thing written for today! “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why do you need me to re-write it if you haven’t actually read it?” That’s the baffling part.   
  
“Because I have news that you don’t have,” Mr. Yoo says with a grin, “and it’s going to break tomorrow morning so I want to get the jump on it. Whatever you wrote today will probably contradict what you need to write for tomorrow.”   
  
Jinhwan perks up at the odd statement. “Oh. What’s the news?” It can really only mean one thing if it’s about fighting, and Jinhwan’s been hoping for that thing for ages, but always figured it would go to someone else, someone with more seniority and better connections.   
  
“Your boy’s match has been set for Sunday,” Mr. Yoo tells him, the faintest hint of a smile brushing his lips upward. Jinhwan can feel his breath actually catch in his throat. Though he covers the entire fighting industry, he’s made no attempt to hide his preference for a crazy fighter from the slums.   
  
“Who’s he fighting?”   
  
Mr. Yoo’s smile rises higher and he takes a few seconds pause before answering. “He’s fighting in the headline match.”   
  
Jinhwan’s mouth drops in shock, because that guarantees it. That Legion kid is _finally_ making his debut, it’s the only news that makes sense. Of course they’d want to make a huge deal out of his debut, and who better for a first opponent than the guy who’s been stealing his thunder?   
  
“If you made any appointments today you need to reschedule them or pass them off. Germanicus himself has asked for you. You’re going to get his son’s first ever interview. Don’t fuck it up.”   
  
Jinhwan can’t believe it. All other thoughts fly out of his head at this. This is _huge._ This is even bigger than his smuggling story! A Legion-authorized interview with its newest fighter? He’s actually going to get to go inside their headquarters. He’s going to get to sit down with the damn prince of Seoul! He’s going to be the most envied journalist for the next year. “Thank you, sir.”   
  
Mr. Yoo nods and tries not to smile. “Remember that you have been chosen for this, and not by me. So you know what’s expected of you. I’ve also arranged for you to interview the opponent as well, also today. You know exactly what I want from you, don’t you?” Mr. Yoo’s expression is all business, and it sobers up Jinhwan’s giddy thoughts.   
  
He nods. He’s spent the past two years singing the praises of The Death Brigade, two years of creating a legendary narrative around Stray Bullet, hyping him to God-like status. Now he has to undo all of his work, he has to tear it all apart and craft a new story, sing the praises of a new champion.   
  
This kid from The Legion had damn well better win his fight on Sunday. Because switching sides like this is sending a message, it’s changing the whole face of his work. Not even breaking the story about the smuggling ring would be enough to mend his journalistic integrity if this kid loses.   
  
Well, at least Stray Bullet will get to go out with a deserved bang. Jinhwan had two stellar years following him. But it’s time for fresh blood.   


* * *

  
He’s driven by the compound many times, always in cars with tinted windows and stolen license plates, so they can’t be tracked back to their actual source. It’s dangerous in this part of the city, where gang violence is always one itchy trigger finger away from exploding through the streets. The compound skirts the border of an industrial zone and a poor housing community, and it’s easy to spot which businesses have been appropriated by the gang and which ones are still struggling to operate on their own.   
  
Almost all of the buildings have been tagged with the calling sign of The Death Bridge—an exploding skull on a red flag. No building has been spared, many of the windows are taped over with cardboard, the front doors boast spiderweb cracks. The signs need to be repainted, the sidewalks are littered with garbage that no one picks up anymore. Residents walk the streets with their heads down, not wanting to attract attention to themselves.   
  
It’s a far cry from where he’ll be going later today, and he’s glad he’s coming here first. He can spend a few hours in honest appreciation of his favourite fighters before swapping sides without so much as a warning. But he also feels like maybe this is all happening at the right time, because even though he’s driven through here before, he’s never really paid attention to the residents. Never really thought about what their lives are like, living under the thumb of a notorious gang. Because even though they bill themselves as a fighting sect, at the end of the day they’re still a gang of thugs and criminals, who firebomb restaurants due to poor service and demand exorbitant sums of money as _protection fees._ There’s an ugly reality to the group that he’s never really considered before. Jinwoo’s influence, obviously.   
  
His car pulls up at the entrance gate and he takes a minute to prepare himself, goes over the purpose of the interview in his head. He needs to look for weaknesses to exploit, or realities that he can twist into weaknesses. He’s good at embellishing.   
  
He exits the car and stands by the entrance gate, an imposing steel door that retracts in for vehicles. The gate is part of a wall that surrounds the compound, a ten foot high barricade that keeps the outside world from getting in. There’s barbed wire at the top, just in case. But set down at ground level is a regular pedestrian door, which is currently shut. He approaches just as a small window opens from the other side and a pair of mean eyes glare at him.   
  
“Fuck you want?” Is how he’s greeted, and Jinhwan wonders, for a moment, if they actually know that he’s coming. Shouldn’t they be expecting him?   
  
“I’m here from Chosun Ilbo,” Jinhwan replies, “I have an interview with your boss.”   
  
Someone behind the guy speaks (Jinhwan can’t quite make it out) but a moment later the door man is nodding. “Right, that newspaper shit. Hold on.” The window closes but the door opens, and Jinhwan swallows nervously as the guy approaches him. It’s a knee jerk reaction, because the guy’s quite large, and Jinhwan’s all alone.   
  
“You got any weapons?” The guy asks, and Jinhwan shakes his head. “Gonna search you anyway, so stand against the wall with your hands high, there you go.” The guard starts patting him down and Jinhwan grits his teeth at the intrusion. He should have been expecting it, really, but the fact that it’s done outside the compound, right on the sidewalk… It just makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. The guard does a full body search (including a rather rough groping of his crotch that has Jinhwan blushing) before going through his bag.   
  
“What the fuck’s this?” He asks, holding a small black recorder.   
  
“It’s an audio recorder,” Jinhwan answers, “I’m a journalist, it’s what I record my interviews on.”   
  
“You sure? Make it play something,” the guard demands, and Jinhwan shakes his head.   
  
“Can’t do that, there’s nothing on it yet.”   
  
The guard frowns and puts the recorder in his pocket. “Sounds suspect, I’ll hold onto it for now until we see the boss. Come on.” The guard grabs him by the arm and pushes him through the door; Jinhwan stumbles on the door jamb and a surge of irritation almost has him yelling at the guard. But he remembers where he is, and there’s no telling what the guard might do if he’s in a foul mood. So he bites his tongue and follows, eyes immediately scanning the interior of the compound, committing the layout to memory. It’s not that he’s paranoid. It’s just intelligent to always be aware of your surroundings. To always find an exit route.   
  
He’s a little surprised to find that the entire place is dirt, like they’ve covered up all the concrete in favour of caked mud. The buildings are mostly low, three stories at most, typical industrial warehouses. Some of them are painted on the outside, mostly skulls, but there’s a rather impressive mural of the grim reaper on one of them. Might make a nice backdrop in case he wants a picture for his article. Towards the centre of the compound there’s a massive pit dug into the ground, with the dirt piled up beside it. He can hear the squelching sound of feet stuck in the mud, can hear the grunts of men fighting. He’d like to stop and get a better look, but he’s marched onward to the back of the complex.   
  
He’s meeting with the leader of The Death Brigade first. Kwon Jiyong—aka Gore Dragon. He was Jinhwan’s favourite fighter as a teenager, he’d idolized him for years. Jiyong is smaller and slimmer than most of the successful fighters, but his reputation is utterly terrifying. He’s one of the few fighters left who always ruins his opponents. If they’re lucky, he kills them. If they’re unlucky, he lets them live, but he severely reduces their quality of life. He’s been known to sever limbs in victory. One time after a particularly heated rivalry he left the ring with his opponent’s tongue.   
  
The closer they get the more it begins to affect Jinhwan. A tingling sensation slowly creeps out from his chest, adrenaline mixed with fear, and he walks on pins and needles toward the office building. He’s excited for the pre-interview discussion, but he’s also afraid to look him face to face.   
  
He’s halted at the entrance to the building, where his escort has a quick and quiet chat with another guy stationed at the door. The stationed guard turns around and Jinhwan watches him punch in a code he can’t make out before he pulls the door open. Jinhwan follows his escort inside the building and he’s taken aback at the decor. It’s a contrast to the outside, black marble and sleek leather, and he watches in confusion as his escort rubs the soles of his boots against a brush, cleaning off the mud. But then his eyes are drawn off into the sitting area, where there’s a giant painted portrait of Jiyong.   
  
_Delusions of grandeur,_ he files away for later, because that’s definitely going into his article (even though the portrait is gorgeous and he’d hang it in his room in a heartbeat). They’re met at the base of the stairs by another guard who takes them up to the second floor. A fresh surge of excitement works its way up from his stomach, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He’s about to meet Jiyong. To see him. It’s almost too much and he has to remind myself that he’s here today as a professional, and not as a fan.   
  
The guard opens the glass double doors to the main office and Jinhwan gets his first look at Jiyong, calm and composed, sitting behind an ornate mahogany desk, typing away on a laptop. He’s got bright red hair that’s styled perfectly, so the tips just barely brush at his eyes. Jinhwan can’t stop staring at his face, at the hollowed cheeks that make his bones stand out, the intense black eyeliner, lips painted to match his hair. He looks striking. Gorgeous, but definitely intimidating. He was the first man that Jinhwan had ever been attracted to, and the attraction still stands today.   
  
Jiyong doesn’t look at him but he does speak. “Have a seat.”   
  
Jinhwan complies immediately, sitting in the chair right in front of Jiyong. The guard from the wall approaches the desk and drops Jinhwan’s recorder in front of Jiyong.   
  
“He had this with him, boss, wasn’t sure if we should take it.”   
  
Jiyong pauses in his writing and turns his head to study the recording device. Jinhwan can almost feel the irritation surging through the other man’s veins when he recognizes the device. Jiyong picks up the recorder and holds it between his index finger and thumb, presenting it to the guard.   
  
“Do you know what this is?”   
  
The guard nods. “Yeah, said it was some kinda recorder or something.”   
  
Jiyong’s eye twitches. “He’s a journalist, who is here for an interview. Of course he would have it. Why the fuck would you take it?”   
  
Jinhwan swallows nervously, even though he’s not the one in danger. Jiyong speaks with a low voice, controlled aggression in desperate need of being unleashed, his murderous glare on the guard. Jinhwan glances at his eyes, momentarily dazzled by the optics of his contact lenses. They make his eyes red, but when he’s angry his pupils burst into flames.   
  
The guard shrugs and looks at the floor. “Dunno, boss, just wanted to be careful.” Jiyong doesn’t answer right away, but he stares at the guard, like he’s visualizing shredding his stomach open.   
  
“Get out of my office.” It’s a simple request that takes both guards by surprise.   
  
“Sure, boss. Should we send Jiwon up?” The question is posed by the guard they met at the base of the stairs.   
  
“Did I tell you to?” Jiyong rebuts, his voice louder, eyes still in flames.   
  
“No.” The guard replies, and Jinhwan notices sweat beading at his brow. He adds it to his mental file, impressed that he’s still doing his job in the heat of the moment.   
  
“Then what do you think my answer is?” Jiyong asks, and it’s met with both guards bowing to him before hastily retreating from the room, closing the doors behind them. Jinhwan quickly looks away from Jiyong before he’s caught staring, his heart thumping.   
  
“Clearly simple guard duty is beyond some of these guys,” Jiyong sneers, before turning to Jinhwan and holding the recorder out.   
  
Jinhwan sees it out of the corner of his eye and takes that as his opportunity to face Jiyong again, reaching out to take the recorder back. He slips behind a facade of indifference, not wanting to appear as though he’s intimidated. He’s going to have to be careful with the interview if Jiyong is already in a bad mood. “Yeah, that infuriated even me,” he replies with a grin.   
  
Jiyong smiles back at him and Jinhwan almost fumbles with the recorder. It’s extremely rare to ever see him smile. It’s somewhat disturbing. “I should really clean house and raise the standards around here, since there were none originally. But we’re not here to discuss that.”   
  
No matter—Jinhwan will include the line regardless. “No we’re not. We’re here for that interview.”   
  
Their eyes meet and Jinhwan doesn’t lower his gaze even though his senses are screaming at him to do just that. Jiyong’s eyes are back to a smoldering red, the flames gone. That makes Jinhwan feel slightly better.   
  
“Before we get to the interview, I want to make something very clear,” Jiyong states, and Jinhwan nods.   
  
“Of course. Speak plainly so we have no misunderstandings.” He holds the recorder in his hand but hasn’t turned it on yet. He really only carries it around on formality, since he has an exceptional memory when it comes to recalling spoken dialogue.   
  
“You know who the opponent is this weekend,” Jiyong begins, and Jinhwan nods, “and you know it’s very rare that I allow journalists inside this compound. I’ve chosen you specifically for your body of work over the past few years. I expect that to continue.”   
  
Jinhwan nods, even though it sadly won’t be happening that way. He’s a little surprised that Jiyong doesn’t expect it. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. I’ve been a fan of your faction for as long as I’ve been watching the fights. I remember your debut, actually.”   
  
Jiyong nods back. “Good. Provide an accurate account for your paper, and maybe I’ll let you back in for a post-victory interview.”   
  
Jinhwan hates the timing of it all. It’s everything he’s ever fantasized about, but has to give up. Oh well. It’s a nice dream. “I will do my utmost to give you exactly what you want.”   
  
“As you should, for one so privileged. I just wanted to make my expectations clear.” They lock eyes for a moment, neither of them blink. “Let’s go and find Jiwon. He’s currently training, I thought that would provide a better setting for you.” Jiyong stands up and Jinhwan watches as he comes out from behind his desk. He’s wearing tight fitting leather pants that draw Jinhwan’s attention, complemented by black combat boots. They’re pristine given the dirt he walks on daily, and Jinhwan wonders how often he cleans them.   
  
They leave the building flanked by two guards and Jinhwan isn’t quite sure why he’s got guards within his own compound, but he’ll work it into his article. It’ll make him sound paranoid.   
  
He wonders briefly if he’s going to need to employ a bodyguard of his own after he writes the article. Maybe he ought to ask for one before he submits the piece to his boss. At least for a few weeks.   
  
They make their way to the pit he’d passed on the way in, the sounds of squelching feet in the mud still audible. They’re met by yells and jeers as they approach, a crowd of other fighters watching the scene in the pit. Jinhwan looks around for familiar faces, seeing a few looking on. It feels like this whole scene is a set up, made to look impressive to an outsider.   
  
Then he looks down into the pit of mud and feels his heart pounding heavily in his chest. It’s primal and basic and exudes exactly the sort of energy he’s come to associate with the group. Jiwon is down there in the mud, fighting two guys at once, and Jinhwan watches with rapt attention, his technical eye judging the movements of all three competitors. This fight isn’t just for show, and even though the two opponents are definitely newer fighters, they’re not terrible, and they’re not holding back, they’re giving everything they have.   
  
But Jiwon is better. That’s what Jinhwan always thinks when he watches him—that he’s better than the rest. It’s a bittersweet opportunity now, to be so close, watching without all the added pageantry of the league. He’d love to be able to write a real article about this, to give it the positive tone his heart calls for. Instead he’ll spin it all in the opposite direction, because at the end of the day he has to pander to the bigger story, and he has to please the higher ranking crowd.   
  
Those are the politics of journalism.   
  
He steps closer to Jiyong in order to be heard without speaking up. “Does he regularly train like this?” he asks, “fighting two guys at once?”   
  
“No,” Jiyong replies, “but high profile matches call for advanced training.”   
  
“Of course,” Jinhwan hums in assent, and notices then that Jiwon is not brandishing any weapons, while the other two are both armed. One of them holds a large, sharp hook in his hand, the bizarre weapon catching Jinhwan’s eye. The other guy swings a tire iron in Jiwon’s direction. “Does he often spar without weapons?”   
  
“Occasionally,” Jiyong replies, “it’s important to simulate any situation.”   
  
Jinhwan has a question he’s been dying to know the answer to, and he decides to spring it now since Jiyong seems to be in a better mood. “Have you sparred with him before?” It’s a simple question, and is honestly something of a lurid fanboy fantasy, picturing his favourite fighters in the pit, naked but for the dried mud and blood that cakes their skin, sweat tracing paths down the filth. He read a work of fiction about it once. Twice, actually.   
  
“I trained him when he first joined,” Jiyong answers, and Jinhwan’s mouth drops a little in shock, “so yes, I’ve sparred with him many times.”   
  
“Your styles have always seemed similar,” Jinhwan says, mostly to see what Jiyong’s reaction will be. He thinks he detects a slight hint of irritation in the sudden hard set of his jaw.   
  
“I taught him everything he knows.” Jiyong replies carefully.   
  
Jinhwan takes the caution, though sometimes he just can’t help himself. He’s always been a flirt—especially with danger itself. “Well, you taught him very well. He boasts an impressive record, not unlike your own. I’m anticipating Sunday, I expect good things from him.” Just then Jiwon shoves one of the fighters face down in the mud, dirty fingers on a dirty face. He stomps on his back as he stands up, and Jinhwan watches as neither of his opponents get back to their feet.   
  
He can’t wait for Sunday, even if it has the potential to ruin his career in journalism.   
  
“Jiwon!” Jiyong yells, and Jinhwan watches as the fighter down below casts a look their way, his face streaked with mud. It makes Jinhwan’s heart pound.   
  
“Yeah?” Jiwon yells back, panting heavily.   
  
Jiyong doesn’t say anything in response, just snaps his fingers and points at his side, and Jiwon comes running like a trained dog. Jinhwan is sure that _this_ is for show, and he’ll be damned if it’ll take some time to get the visual out of his head. He wonders if Jiyong has trained him to sit as well? Jiwon clambers up out of the pit, fingers digging into the dirt to get a hand hold. Jinhwan’s eyes are trained on the flexing muscles of his shoulders and back, an impressive display right in front of him, mere feet away.   
  
Jiwon makes a show of stretching his arms out over his head when he stands next to them, his muscles screaming in pleasure after the intense workout. He glances at the man standing next to Jiyong, certain that this must be the journalist that’s come to interview him today. Some guy who writes about him all the time, or so Jiyong said. Jiwon doesn’t read. Donghyuk does that for him.   
  
“Jiwon, as discussed, this is Kim Jinhwan.” Jiyong begins, critical eyes on his top fighter.   
  
Jiwon’s still on a high after fighting and even though he _knows_ that he’s supposed to conduct himself with some level of decorum, he can’t quite think straight. “Some journalist, right?” He says with a playful smirk at Jinhwan, expecting a laugh. Instead he gets silence.   
  
“Jiwon,” Jiyong says warningly, and Jiwon shrinks right before them, licks his lips nervously and runs a hand through his hair. Jinhwan is fascinated at the way Jiyong exerts his control so expertly, managing to cow someone who’s so dangerous in their own right.   
  
_Shit._ “Ha, kidding! I’m familiar with you, of course! Big fan of mine,” Jiwon says finally, eyes raking over the smaller man, trying to remember what Jiyong told him, “you write for the JoongAng, right?”   
  
“Chosun Ilbo.” Jinhwan replies with a smile, not insulted because he hadn’t really expected Jiwon to know which paper he writes for. But he can _feel_ the fury radiating off of Jiyong beside him. If the interview continues this way, he won’t even have to fake much of the article. Jiwon is burying himself already.   
  
Jiwon’s eyes look panicked for a moment. “Ah shit, right, Chosun! I can never remember which one is which, sorry,” he rambles, intensely aware of how angry Jiyong is right now. Maybe it would be better if he just stopped talking altogether.   
  
Jinhwan can’t get over how surreal it is, to be standing in front of him, talking. Reprimanding, actually. “Well, Chosun is the biggest paper in Seoul, and your story will be on the front page. So try to remember the name for tomorrow, so you can at least read it.” Jiwon’s eyes flick up to meet his and Jinhwan is surprised at the way he actually looks slightly embarrassed. It has to be Jiyong’s impact.   
  
“Let’s go sit for your interview,” Jiyong says and turns to lead them away. Jinhwan follows him, walking by his side, but Jiwon walks directly behind Jiyong, two paces back, and Jinhwan wonders if it’s always like that? Even the guards walk behind Jiyong. Maybe it’s a respect thing? Is Jiyong offended that he’s walking by his side? It doesn’t matter, of course. But it is interesting.   
  
Jiyong leads them to an enclosed patio area, a multitude of high top tables with stools, set underneath some large umbrellas. Jiyong sits first and Jinhwan sits next to him, Jiwon takes the stool on Jiyong’s other side. The guards remain standing.   
  
Jinhwan’s eyes are on the pair, intrigued by what he can see. Jiyong is staring hard at Jiwon, who’s not looking back. Instead he’s staring at the table, but he clears his throat suddenly and looks at Jiyong.   
  
“Can I get some water?” Jiwon asks nervously, likes he’s afraid of Jiyong’s answer. But the older man nods, and Jiwon scampers off to grab himself a drink from the fridge that’s situated at the side of the building. Jinhwan watches him with a curious eye, interested by the whole set up. His meeting with Jiwon is so far not what he’d expected. His biggest question is whether Jiwon’s personality is vastly different out of the ring, or if he’s only acting like this because of Jiyong. Would he see a different side without the boss around?   
  
Jiwon returns with a metal canteen and sits down before tilting his head back. Jinhwan’s eyes are on his throat, watching it bob as he swallows. A fair amount of water trickles out of Jiwon’s mouth, running rivulets down his face, sluicing a pattern through the dirt. He doesn’t wipe it away, feels refreshed by it, feels at home with the dirt. He concentrates on drinking, trying to clear his head.   
  
He fucked up big time just a minute ago, didn’t take it seriously enough. What was Jiyong expecting, though? He’d just finished kicking a few asses, of course his head would be all fucked up! It wasn’t his fault. Jiyong shouldn’t have let him speak. Should have known he’d fuck it up.   
  
Whatever. He’ll watch his mouth for the rest of the interview. He finishes drinking and lays the canteen down on the table, his eyes skirting over Jiyong to look at the journalist. Some short little guy, wearing a suit and boots that look way too fancy for their compound. Despite the guy apparently being a big fan of his, Jiwon decides on the spot that he doesn’t like him. He’s not a fighter, so they probably wouldn’t get along.   
  
Jinhwan takes out his recorder and makes a show of placing it on the table between them and turning it on, smiling when his eyes meet Jiwon’s panicked ones. He looks nervous, like he’s clearly out of his element. It makes Jinhwan feel a little powerful, being able to elicit that nervous energy from someone he’s admired. He’d been worried that he would be the one feeling uncomfortable, but instead it’s the other way around.   
  
That works for him.   
  
He flips open his notebook and begins with his questions, jotting down important lines. Jiwon is an interesting person to interview. His answers at the beginning are nervous and short, and his eyes continually flicker to Jiyong, seeking validation for his commentary. It’s very different from speaking with Jiyong. Jiwon is a terrible speaker, actually, has trouble focusing his thoughts and forming sentences. Maybe it’s just the nerves, or the unfamiliar setting. Jinhwan can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. He’d expected more.   
  
But then he’s used to polished speakers, bankers and politicians and government workers, and even despite the disappointment it’s kind of nice to speak to someone like him, who doesn’t know how to anticipate questions or link his answers together. It’s a big mess, their conversation, filled with off-topic anecdotes and stilted commentary. But even so, talking with Jiwon feels like a breath of fresh air, despite the cloying scent of the earth.   
  
After nearly an hour he has what he needs, and Jiyong dismisses Jiwon with a direct order, and he scurries away from them like a dog running off with his tail tucked between his legs. Jinhwan pauses the recorder, unsure what to make of the situation as a whole. It was weird. Not at all what he’d expected.   
  
“I apologize for his lacking conversation,” Jiyong says, “his interviewing needs some work.”   
  
“It does.” Jinhwan replies, eyes set on Jiyong.   
  
“I’ll work with him on it. A champion should be better spoken.” They stare at one another for a moment, and Jinhwan can’t help but wonder how Jiyong copes with it all. It’s clear after today that Jiyong considers himself high above his gang members, and he wonders if Jiyong is trying to position himself as the boss in order to attempt to worm his way into politics eventually? It wouldn’t be surprising, there’s a high demand for well-spoken ex-fighters. He fully expects Germanicus to follow his wife into politics upon his retirement from fighting, he has the demeanour for it.   
  
Jinhwan glances again at Jiyong’s attire, takes in his impeccably clean outfit, compares it to the others. He’s different, Jiyong is. Different from the group, wants to seem higher class. Wants to be intimidating and dangerous for more reasons than just his ability as a fighter.   
  
Eventually Jiyong stands up, and Jinhwan follows.   
  
“I believe you should have enough for your article?” Jiyong asks, and Jinhwan nods.   
  
“Yes of course, thank you for the interview. I appreciate the access, I’ll make it worth your time.” As much as he’d like to stick around and soak in the atmosphere, he has a lot to do before his meeting in two hours. Has a lot to write.   
  
They leave the patio and head back to the gate, and on their walk Jiyong points out things Jinhwan hadn’t noticed on his brief walkabout. The large warehouse with the grim reaper mural is where the fighters live and sleep, but they don’t go in. There’s a large fire pit off to the side, where they burn bonfires at night. Jinhwan can see the stacked wood, he can smell a faint trace of fire as they walk by. Open fires in the city are frowned upon, but of course no one would be quick to come knocking on their door.   
  
As they pass by the warehouse where their engineers work, Jinhwan sees a young man emerge from the building, a bag slung over his shoulder. Jiyong actually stops and calls him over.   
  
“I’d like you to meet the newest addition to our team,” Jiyong says, “this is Jung Chanwoo, our new technical genius.”   
  
Chanwoo bows to him and Jinhwan wonders how such a polite kid came to be with Jiyong’s group? He looks him over, notices the uniform look of his outfit compared to the others. “It’s nice to meet you,” he greets, eyes on his bag, “you look young, are you still in school?”   
  
“Last year of high school,” Chanwoo answers before Jiyong can say anything, and Jinhwan tries to hide his smirk. It’s clear from the look on Chanwoo’s face that he wasn’t supposed to answer that truthfully.   
  
“Wow,” Jinhwan whistles, “how did you get smart enough to gain Jiyong’s interest at such a young age?”   
  
Chanwoo glances at Jiyong before saying anything, the _oh shit_ look on his face particularly alarming. He must be very fresh to all of this, because if he works in their tech team then he can’t be dumb, and he should know what to say.   
  
“I’ve taken an interest in our community,” Jiyong says, and Jinhwan looks back at him, “I’m sure you saw for yourself, on your drive in, that our surrounding neighbourhood lacks for money. Since the city does nothing for its poor citizens, I have decided to step in, playing benefactor to those worthy. Chanwoo has made quite a name for himself in school robotics competitions, so I’ve offered to pay for his schooling provided he works for me.”   
  
Jinhwan quickly looks at Chanwoo and he can see the truth written on the kid’s face. Jiyong’s not paying for shit, at least not a future university career. Maybe his family owes a debt? Maybe they own a business that Jiyong is allowing to continue running, so long as their son plays tech guru? Maybe he’ll do a little digging into this kid.   
  
“I do get to use a lot of advanced robotics my school could never gets its hands on,” Chanwoo says, but he’s running cover up a little too late for Jinhwan’s overly perceptive brain. “It’s a huge bonus for me, working here. It’s a great experience.”   
  
“I’m sure it must be,” Jinhwan replies, smiling at him, “school friends must be jealous of you.”   
  
Chanwoo smiles back at him. “You could say that.”   
  
“Will you be around for the fight?” Jinhwan asks, curious about what exactly Jiyong is grooming him for. The engineer who usually runs fights with Jiwon is some hopped up junkie. He wonders if Jiyong is going to try and groom this kid into a respectable stage presence?   
  
“He’ll be there,” Jiyong answers, “he’s being trained to work fights in the future, aren’t you, Chanwoo?” Jinhwan’s eyes flit back and forth between them, and just like with Jiwon, Jinhwan can see how utterly terrified Chanwoo is. It’s interesting.   
  
“Well then I look forward to seeing you again on Sunday,” Jinhwan states, before glancing at his phone. “I have to be going, Jiyong, but thank you again for allowing me access. It’s been truly eye opening to be here, to see it all in person. I hope I can repay your hospitality with my writing.”   
  
“I hope so as well,” Jiyong replies, before directing him back the way he came in. “Be available after the fight on Sunday,” he says, “I’ll send for you for the post-match interview.”   
  
“It would be an honour,” Jinhwan replies, and he takes one last moment to look Jiyong in the eyes, wants to commit it all to memory.   
  
Because come tomorrow morning, Jiyong might just be contemplating his murder.   


* * *

  
He makes hurried notes to himself the second he gets back into the waiting car, speaking out loud into his voice recorder. There’s so much material to use that it’s going to be a bit of a struggle to pare it down for his needs. He’s not quite sure what it says about him as a person that he’s so quick to turn his back on people he’s idolized for close to a decade, just to take a leap with his career. Jinwoo would probably be disappointed in him, would probably say he’s selling himself out. He’d be right.   
  
Once he’s finished getting his verbal notes down he takes his laptop out, fingers flying over the keys as he begins getting the bones of the article together. He doesn’t pay attention to much else, has no idea where the driver is going, assumes they’re headed back to the office until his appointment with the Legion. Instead he looks out the window when the car stops, confused eyes looking at a half deserted parking lot.   
  
“What are we doing?” He asks the driver, saving his document.   
  
“Mr. Yoo told me to park somewhere quiet for you to write until your next interview.”   
  
Jinhwan nods and hums in assent before returning his gaze to the screen. Better off this way, he won’t get distracted in the car.   
  
“I’m going to get some lunch, do you want anything? There’s a sushi place across the street.”   
  
Jinhwan doesn’t look up from his screen as he answers. “Yeah sure, nothing that’ll make my breath smell. Nothing spicy, either, I don’t want to go in there with red cheeks.” He hears the driver exit the car and lock the doors, and for some reason that’s the sound that triggers an unpleasant wave of suspicion to settle over his entire body.   
  
He realizes with sudden alarm that he has no idea who his driver is. The car had been parked outside the compound the entire time he was inside. What if his driver got replaced? He wouldn’t even know.   
  
He stifles the thought before it grows into something unmanageable. He hasn’t released the article yet, Jiyong has no way of knowing that he plans on betraying him. There’s no cause for concern, no reason to be wary. He checks where they are on his phone, just to be safe. They’re in neutral territory, just on the outskirts of a shopping district. He’s fine. There’s no reason to be suspicious.   
  
The driver is back within twenty minutes, two trays laden with food, one of which he passes back. Jinhwan picks at it occasionally, too set in his writing to really pay it attention. The driver doesn’t talk, but sits behind the wheel, waiting. Jinhwan plays his notes back a few times, adds in lines here and there, and before long he’s got a decent skeleton article, waiting to be buffed up. He saves the document a final time before sending it to two different e-mail addresses. Just to be safe.   
  
He puts his laptop away in his bag before turning to the rest of his lunch, hungry now that he’s done. But he also assumes that he’ll be offered food later, because they’ll want to show themselves as generous hosts, and anything he eats while with the Legion will undoubtedly be the best food he has all month. So he eats only enough to quell the hunger in his stomach, gambling on food later.   
  
He gets out of the car to stretch his legs and walks around the parking lot under the watchful eye of the driver, and he can’t shake his earlier suspicions, though he’d silenced them for a while. He looks at his phone and contemplates calling his boss to discuss a security detail, for Sunday, at the very least.   
  
Ten minutes later he’s back in the car, giving himself a mental pep talk when the driver announces that he’ll be taking him to his next appointment. The Legion is situated in a different part of the city, where high rises dominate, every building with some fancy sounding shop or restaurant on the ground level. You can tell the difference given the types of people on the street here, even compared to his own neighbourhood.   
  
No one walks with their head bowed, and no one is rushing. There’s no sense of urgency, deadlines do not exist for this corner of society. The Legion building is among the tallest in Seoul, and the second he’s out of the car he’s staring up at it in awe. The building itself is gorgeous, mostly glass, with beams of steel giving it structure. There are touches of Roman architecture, but modernized. There are Roman columns made of gleaming steel, the front entrance to the building remodelled to resemble the ancient Pantheon.   
  
It’s made to stand out from its surroundings, and it does. One thing that surprises Jinhwan, though, is the complete lack of guards. He’s certain they’re around, impossible to have the building completely unguarded. He thinks back to the compound he’d just left, cut off from the outside world with a steel wall and barbed wire, suspicious thugs stationed at every corner.   
  
And that’s when he realizes that the lack of guards is meant to point out those glaring differences. Here there is no need to cut off access to the public, because there is no threat from the public. The image they wish to project onto the city is one of openness and opulence, no trace of paranoia or fear. It’s quite the message, really.   
  
But the transparency of the illusion comes to light when he makes his way up the steps towards the door. He is greeted by a voice that almost sounds like it’s only in his head. There’s no one near him, and unless there are hidden speakers set into the steel itself, he doesn’t know where the voice is coming from.   
  
_“Pause for facial scanning. Scan complete, identification link to Kim Jinhwan, journalist with Chosun Ilbo, appointment scheduled in ten minutes. Proceed inside, you will be shown to your destination.”_   
  
He can’t help but look around, still confused about what had scanned him and where it had been located. But his attention is drawn to the door that’s suddenly opening, like the entrance to some great crypt. It’s intimidating, but in an entirely different way from what he’d felt earlier. With Jiyong’s compound, you knew exactly what danger awaited you because you could see it walking two paces behind you. But here, he’s walking blind into a building after being scanned by some object he can’t even see, and it’s pitch black. Suddenly he sees a red light descend on him, passing over his entire body in a second, and he’s confused until he hears the disembodied voice again.   
  
_“Scan complete, no weapons or restricted devices. Internal doors opening.”_   
  
A thin line of light appears in front of him and his mouth drops in shock as he watches it grow into a passage, like the wall has just retracted into itself. He steps out from the black room and that’s when things start to look the way he’s expected them.   
  
The floors are made of marble, the walls a pristine white with gold accents. Guards are stationed sparingly down the hall, though if the only way into the building is through that scanning room then he can see why there aren’t more of them milling about.   
  
“Kim Jinhwan,” he’s greeted by a voice that is attached to a body, one belonging to an older man with a kind face, “follow me please, I’ll escort you to your meeting.”   
  
Jinhwan follows him in silence, a little taken aback by everything. It’s such a different atmosphere, and even though he’d expected it, that doesn’t compensate for how it feels. Walking through the compound, even next to Jiyong, he’d felt like an outsider, someone whose presence was merely tolerated, but always placed under a watchful, suspicious eye. But here he feels like a welcomed guest. He may have been searched already, but it was done by technology alone. Keeping the human touch out of it had done a lot to make it feel less intrusive.   
  
He doesn’t get to see much of the building before he’s brought to a set of elevators, and he boards the very last one. Looking at the panel inside, there are only stops for the 20th and 21st floors. He thinks about asking the man, but decides to hold on to his questions for now.   
  
They exit at the 21st floor and the moment the doors open he’s greeted to a rather striking family portrait, and he immediately compares it to Jiyong’s. The solo portrait was intimidating, one man alone in a powerful pose, glaring eyes ready to cast unfavourable judgement from the canvas it called home.   
  
But the Kim family portrait is not at all what he would have expected. It’s actually very welcoming, softly posed. For the first time he considers that outside of being at the top of a fighting magnate, they are still a _family,_ and the more he looks at the portrait, the more he misses his parents. Germanicus and his wife, a prominent politician who leads the houses of parliament, stand at the centre of the portrait with arms around one another, their children tucked into their sides. All four faces are smiling, like they are genuinely happy together.   
  
It’s funny how one painting of four people can humanize them in ways media attention hasn’t done. He’d have expected a more austere picture, something intimidating, radiating strength. It’s an interesting choice.   
  
He takes in his surroundings as he’s led down a hallway, taking in details of the decor. It’s elegant and high class, a mere touch of opulence to remain firmly on the tasteful side of decoration. It all looks rich, but not just for the sake of showing off. It’s carefully curated, a collection of the best. He also notices more portraits along the wall, surprised to see them. One is a given, but the rest of them make it look like, well, like a normal _home._ Which it is, of course. He’s not sure why he had expected anything else.   
  
He is led to an open door and gestured inside. He walks into the room and immediately his breath catches in his throat. There they sit, the pair of them, father and son, in armchairs before a lit fireplace. He’s never had the privilege of interviewing Germanicus before, does not have the seniority to ask for it. He feels awed to be in their presence, like he’s meeting royalty.   
  
As he moves towards them he realizes it’s all part of an act, perpetuated by the whole set up of their building. This is the image they wish to present, and they do a damn good job of making that happen. It clears his head a little, reminds him again about why he’s here. It’ll be good for the article.   
  
“Kim Jinhwan,” Germanicus greets as he stands up, “please come and join us.” He indicates towards an empty armchair and waits for Jinhwan to get close before extending his hand in greeting. Jinhwan takes it and isn’t surprised at all by the strong grip around his fingers.   
  
“Thank you for inviting me into your home,” Jinhwan replies, bowing to him, “I am deeply humbled to have been chosen for such an important interview.”   
  
“That’s good to hear, but you should be aware that you were not my choice, but my son’s.” At this he drops Jinhwan’s hand and sits down, just as his son stands up.   
  
Jinhwan turns to take him in, his eyes drawn to Hanbin’s face. While he’s been photographed before, sightings of him in public are still fairly rare, and never is he so fully revealed as he is now. Jinhwan is drawn in by his striking eyes, exquisite bone structure, and the fine line of his smirking lips. His features are more regal than his father’s, so Jinhwan assumes he must look like his mother. He’s never really studied her face before.   
  
Hanbin extends his hand out and Jinhwan takes it. Unlike his father, Hanbin’s grip is not strong. Instead he holds his hand as though he expects Jinhwan to drop to one knee and kiss it, like actual royalty. He’s not sure if it’s intentionally insulting, or just coincidental.   
  
“I’m familiar with your writing,” Hanbin says by way of greeting, eyes locked confidently onto Jinhwan’s, “you’re quite the fan of my competitor.”   
  
The statement rings like an alarm bell in Jinhwan’s head, and it’s this little statement that truly separates Hanbin from Jiwon. Hanbin has clearly been coached on how to speak. “Yes, well, part of journalism is writing what the public wants to read. He does boast an impressive record.”   
  
“I meant no offense,” Hanbin replies with a smile, before gesturing that they sit, “but that is specifically why I chose you. I’m also familiar with him, I’ve spent the past year studying him. I understand the public’s interest.”   
  
Jinhwan smiles back. He’s going to have to play Hanbin very carefully. “Interest is granted in the interim to undeserving characters while we wait for our true champions.”   
  
Hanbin grins at the words and looks at his father. “Do you hear that? Quite the agreeable statement.”   
  
“Yes,” Germanicus replies, “I see now that your choice was not ill-made after all.”   
  
“Of course not,” Hanbin says, “I’ll only ever get one first interview, I want it to send the appropriate message.”   
  
“Well, on that note I’ll be taking my leave.”   
  
Jinhwan watches in confusion as Germanicus stands up. “You’re not staying?” He can’t help but blurt out, surprised to see him leaving.   
  
“It’s not my interview,” he replies cooly, and their eyes meet for a brief moment. Jinhwan makes a mental note of this as well. Jiyong wouldn’t let Jiwon out of his sight during his interview, while Hanbin’s father is leaving him before the first question. That’s definitely going in the article.   
  
“Don’t be too sorry to see him go,” Hanbin cuts in, a touch of mirth in his tone, “you’ll be sharing a meal with us when we’re finished speaking. You’ll see him again.”   
  
Jinhwan glances back to Germanicus just in time to see him smirk at his son’s answer before he leaves the study, closing the door behind him. He turns his attention back to Hanbin, who’s watching him with a neutral expression. Jinhwan still isn’t entirely sure what to make of him.   
  
“Would you like anything before we begin? A drink?” Hanbin offers.   
  
“Water would be nice,” Jinhwan replies, mostly out of curiosity. He expects a servant to enter the room, but to his surprise Hanbin himself gets up from his chair and heads to a cabinet along the left wall that’s made of a beautiful dark wood. While Hanbin pours the drink Jinhwan looks around the room, sees the same wood has been used to make the coffee table. Everything he and Jinwoo own is a cheap laminate.   
  
“Would you like ice in your water?” Hanbin asks, and Jinhwan answers without looking at him.   
  
“Ice would be great.” He doesn’t recall seeing any sort of freezer in the study, and he looks up to watch Hanbin, who simply takes a bucket full of ice out of the cabinet where the water had been. A freezer masquerading as furniture… A far cry from the shabby old refrigerator Jiwon had gotten his water out of. Hanbin comes back carrying two glasses of water and retakes his seat.   
  
“Out of curiosity, what kind of wood is this?” Jinhwan asks, testing him.   
  
“African blackwood,” Hanbin replies easily, taking a sip of his water, “this table probably costs more than what you make in an entire year.” Hanbin smiles at him, but Jinhwan can’t figure out what his angle is. Is he just bragging? Is he trying to point out that he knows how much Jinhwan makes?   
  
“It’s downright ridiculous, the value we put on things like ornamental lumber,” Hanbin continues, “it’s nice to look at, and it has been in our family for generations, but at the end of the day it’s just a table, and it doesn’t matter what material it’s made out of so long as it serves its purpose.”   
  
Jinhwan takes a sip of his water and contemplates the comment, still unsure about Hanbin’s choice to say it out loud, knowing that he’s listening and judging. What is he trying to show? That he’s open to sympathies for the poor? Why would he bother, though? He’s just beginning his career as a fighter. He’s not gunning for politics yet.   
  
“It is just a table,” Jinhwan replies finally, “but it’s an old table, has been around for generations, like you said, but you’d never know by looking at it. It’s attractive, which is something positive to be considered.”   
  
Hanbin nods at his response before leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table, a move that throws Jinhwan for a complete loop. But a second later he’s squinting his eyes at Hanbin’s sock-clad feet.   
  
“Forgive me,” Jinhwan starts, finally tearing his eyes away to look at Hanbin’s face, “are those _cats_ on your socks?”   
  
Hanbin’s smiles grows a little wider. “A birthday present from my little sister,” he replies, “I’m more of a dog person, myself, but cats are very special to her.”   
  
Jinhwan isn’t sure what to say. Now he’s even more confused about Hanbin’s choice of messages—if there are even any actual messages at all. The more Jinhwan looks at him the more he feels like Hanbin is playing with him. He’s actually never interviewed anyone like that before, his interviews are always cut and dry, with people who are either obvious in their attempts to dress up their words, or too dumb to give any thought to them at all.   
  
But Hanbin knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how to make Jinhwan second guess comments and actions, knows that as soon as he says something, the wheels in Jinhwan’s head will be spinning to weave connections.   
  
It’s refreshing, in a way. He’ll have to up his game to keep up with him.   
  
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Hanbin says, “you’ve interviewed my competitor already, haven’t you?”   
  
Jinhwan is surprised by the question. “I have, earlier today.” He’ll be forthcoming with his information, just to see where Hanbin goes with this.   
  
“And what was your impression? Did he live up to expectations?”   
  
Jinhwan shakes his head. “To be honest, no. But I’m not entirely surprised. He’s a terrible speaker, interviewing him was a mess.”   
  
“Unfortunately not all of us can have it all,” Hanbin replies, “what was it that you said earlier? Undeserving champions in the interim?” He smirks at Jinhwan, who returns the expression.   
  
“I’m glad you’re finally debuting, then,” Jinhwan replies, “couldn’t have come at a better time.”   
  
“Speaking of that, should we get to the interview?” Hanbin asks, staring at Jinhwan even while taking another sip of water.   
  
Jinhwan takes his recorder out of his pocket and lays it on the table, activating it. He doesn’t expect all the handouts he got from Jiwon’s interview, thinks he’ll actually have to consult his recording to get his story exactly how he wants it. He’ll have to be careful to give Hanbin the kind of interview that will have him asking for Jinhwan to return.   
  
He’s a good writer, and Hanbin must know it, because he _did_ ask for him. Even if it’s only to prove a point by making him switch sides, he gets the feeling that Hanbin wouldn’t have chosen him if he didn’t like his writing. He has to remember that over the course of the interview. Hanbin won’t be an easy subject, but Jinhwan likes a challenge.   


* * *

  
True to his promise earlier, once they finish speaking Hanbin invites Jinhwan to join his family for a meal. Jinhwan accepts, because even with the sushi of earlier, he’s starving. Navigating conversation with Hanbin proved to be quite a workout, and he’s looking forward to whatever meal he’s going to get.   
  
Hanbin leads him back the way he’d come in, towards the elevators, and Jinhwan once again admires the family portrait. This time he looks more closely at the others. Hanbin does have his mother’s face, and he’s surprised to see that the resemblance is also shared with his sister.   
  
“Admiring the family?” Hanbin asks when he notices the attention Jinhwan is giving the painting.   
  
“It’s a beautiful portrait,” Jinhwan replies, “although I was really just noticing how much you look like your mother, and your sister.”   
  
To his surprise Hanbin grins at the comment. “It annoys my father that neither of us have his features,” Hanbin says conspiratorially, leaning closer to Jinhwan to whisper in his ear, “don’t put that in the article.”   
  
The close proximity feels stifling, because Jinhwan still doesn’t have a perfect handle on Hanbin. Not to mention the way his presence just fills all the space around him, to the point that Jinhwan feels like it’s difficult to get a breath. Still, somehow he manages.   
  
“Your secret commentary is safe with me,” Jinhwan replies teasingly, and Hanbin rewards him with a softer smile that has Jinhwan’s heart melting slightly.   
  
“We’ll see tomorrow,” Hanbin says, and even though he smiles and his voice is soft, Jinhwan hears the threat behind the words. Hanbin has mastered the art of unarmed intimidation, as far as Jinhwan is concerned. He doesn’t need an armed escort to strike fear into Jinhwan’s heart.   
  
“I admit I was surprised to see all the family pictures,” Jinhwan says, not wanting to linger on Hanbin’s intimidation tactics.   
  
“We like to capture moments,” Hanbin replies, “they’re a useful reminder for us.”   
  
“Which picture is your favourite?” Jinhwan knows it’s a bit of a bold question, but he hopes Hanbin might answer it anyway. Of course even if he does, there’s no telling if it will be an honest answer.   
  
But without missing a beat Hanbin walks a bit further down the hall in the other direction until he stands in front of a picture of he and his sister. It looks like it was taken a few years ago, they both look younger. In it, his sister is holding a cat. “The source of your sister’s infatuation with cats?” Jinhwan asks, and Hanbin nods.   
  
“That’s him,” Hanbin replies, “Legate Lanius, the Monster of the East.”   
  
Jinhwan takes a few seconds pause before asking, to see if Hanbin will elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Okay, you’re going to have to explain that name to me. I know you all take your names from Roman generals, is that where the cat got its name?”   
  
Hanbin grins at him. “Why don’t you look him up? He’s got a very interesting story.”   
  
Jinhwan logs the name for later contemplation. “I’ll do that. Maybe put him in the article.” He sees Hanbin bite his cheek and feels tempted to look it up now, but before he can Hanbin continues down the hall, and Jinhwan leaves it for now and follows.   
  
The room they enter is a rather cozy dining room, very different from what he’d envisioned. He’d been expecting a long table with formal chairs, elaborate centrepieces and plenty of space in between them all. Instead there’s a booth set into one corner of the room, the kind you see at family restaurants. He glances at Hanbin, who’s watching his reaction.   
  
“Expecting something more formal?” Hanbin asks him, and Jinhwan nods. “We do have a formal dining room,” Hanbin explains, “where we entertain guests.”   
  
Jinhwan isn’t entirely sure what he means by the explanation. He’s sure that’s he’s carefully chosen the words, and he tries to figure out what he means by them. “Am I not a guest?”   
  
“No,” Hanbin replies, “it may be a tad premature on my part, but I prefer to think of you as more of a _family friend._ ” His eyes meet Jinhwan’s, and once again Jinhwan feels his blood run cold. Something about Hanbin’s eyes have that quality, the cold stare makes him shiver.   
  
“I feel honoured,” Jinhwan answers, hoping he doesn’t sound nervous.   
  
“You should,” Hanbin replies, “and I trust that I’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning.” Again with the stare and the soft smile, and Jinhwan feels like he may have unwittingly stepped into a nest of vipers.   
  
But he smiles back at Hanbin. “I promise you’ll feel exactly that tomorrow, and every day after so long as you desire.”   
  
“Good answer. Let’s eat.” Hanbin leads him to the booth and Jinhwan tries to wrap his head around it all. There along the back, in the middle seat, are Hanbin’s parents, Germanicus on the left, and the leader of parliament on the right. Next to her is a young man with black hair and a gorgeous face, and Jinhwan recognizes him as their adopted son, Junhoe. Next to him sits the youngest Kim, ten year old Hanbyul.   
  
“Jinhwan, meet the rest of my family,” Hanbin begins the introductions, and they all meet him with the same friendly smiles.   
  
“How did the interview go?” Germanicus asks, and before Jinhwan can say anything Hanbin’s shaking his finger in his father’s direction.   
  
“No sneak peeks, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to read it.”   
  
“I trust it will be worth the wait?” Germanicus asks, and at that Jinhwan replies.   
  
“I certainly hope you’ll feel that way. I have a good feeling about tomorrow’s article, we hit on a lot of really good discussion just now.” Jinhwan watches the faces of both parents, feels at ease when they smile at his answer. He sits next to Hanbin, who is next to his father.   
  
“Hanbin, have you told our guest what we’re having for lunch?” His mother asks, and Jinhwan’s excited to hear it. He can smell it, and if he weren’t so nervous about making a good impression his stomach would probably be rumbling. Hanbin turns to look at him and Jinhwan meets his eyes.   
  
“We’re having black pork.”   
  
The answer hits Jinhwan like a freight train, and for a few seconds he can’t breathe. He’s never talked about his childhood in a professional setting, even his co-workers have no idea that he grew up on Jeju Island. But with the way Hanbin’s staring at him, waiting for a response… How does he know? How did he find out?   
  
“That sounds delicious.” Jinhwan answers, but his stomach is flip flopping nervously.   
  
“It’ll be like a little taste of home for you, won’t it?” Hanbin asks, before leaning closer to him. “Like you, Jinhwan, I also like to do my research.”   
  
Jinhwan nods and forces himself to meet Hanbin’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer. Black pork is my favourite.”   
  
“Excellent.” Hanbin sits back and Jinhwan finally breathes.   
  
“You’re so fucking dramatic.”   
  
Jinhwan’s eyes snap up to see Junhoe grinning at Hanbin from across the table, and he glances at Hanbin, who’s grinning back at Junhoe. The teasing tone knocks a few of his nerves back into place. So Hanbin looked into him—not surprising, really, given that he’d invited Jinhwan into his home. It’s prudent to know who you’re doing business with.   
  
The food is brought out then, halting any further discussion. Jinhwan’s mouth waters at the scent, and his heart aches at the memories of his childhood. How different life would have been if they’d never left the island. But he can’t dwell on the past, not when his future hangs in the balance of the meal.   
  
He waits before eating, to see if Hanbin’s family has any pre-meal rituals, but there are none, and everyone just begins eating, not even pausing for prayer. Jinhwan picks up his first piece of black pork in five years, and just before eating it he thinks about Jinwoo. It almost feels a little selfish of him to be eating the island delicacy without his brother. Usually Jinwoo doesn’t invade his thoughts like this, but it’s such a family atmosphere that he can’t stop the thoughts before they form.   
  
Nearing the end of the meal he looks up to notice Hanbyul staring at him. He looks back at her, curious about her expression, like she’s trying to reach some decision. Should he say something to her? Make conversation?   
  
“So, Hanbyul, I’ve heard that you really like cats.”   
  
Her eyes go wide and no one moves and Jinhwan has that sudden feeling that he’s done something terribly wrong, though he has no idea what that something is. The silence is broken by Germanicus.   
  
“Hanbin,” he speaks the name with a hint of warning in his tone, and Jinhwan turns his head to look at them.   
  
Hanbin doesn’t look at his father, though, instead he stares straight ahead. “It’s my interview.” Jinhwan feels even more confused by the answer.   
  
“Yes, I suppose it is. All the same, mind what you say.”   
  
Jinhwan’s eyes flit between the two of them, wondering when he’s going to get his explanation. Clearly there’s a story here, if Hanbin has mentioned his interview. Hanbin finally turns his head, pointedly looking Jinhwan in the eyes before turning his attention to his sister.   
  
“Byul, tell Jinhwan what happened to Legate Lanius this week.” Jinhwan’s gaze shifts to Hanbyul, and he’s startled by the look of anger on her face.   
  
“Someone killed him.”   
  
“Tell him what you found. Describe it.”   
  
Hanbyul’s eyes harden and her hands ball into fists and even though she hasn’t described anything yet, Jinhwan’s already clenching his muscles in nervous anticipation.   
  
“They left him on the steps,” she begins, her voice as hard as her eyes, “they cut open his stomach and wrapped his guts around his neck.”   
  
Jinhwan feels sick to his stomach, the pork threatening to come back up. “Do you know who did it?” He manages to inquire, though he doesn’t think he even needs to ask at this point.   
  
“Someone from the Death Brigade.”   
  
Of course.   
  
“I want you to put that in your article,” Hanbin says, and Jinhwan turns to look at him, and he’s suddenly reminded of being face to face with Jiyong and his flaming eyes. For some reason, the black void of Hanbin’s is slightly more terrifying. Jinhwan nods, even though he’s not sure he’ll be able to bring himself to describe it in words. And that’s when he realizes the entire charade of earlier.   
  
Hanbin’s comments about the wood, about the table, none of it mattered. It was just a convenient backdrop to make Jinhwan look at those ridiculous cat socks, to make him bring the subject up himself in order to see the outrage on his little sister’s face. This might be Hanbin’s interview, and he might be allowed to discuss whatever topics he chooses, but he does it carefully, paints the outline of the picture only and makes Jinhwan add the colour.   
  
“I’m going to get revenge on them for Legate Lanius’ death, aren’t I, Byul?” Hanbin says, and Jinhwan watches as Hanbyul nods.   
  
“I wish I could get revenge myself,” Hanbyul says with all the malice a ten year old could possibly possess.   
  
“Well, maybe, after I win, I could bring you into the pit, and you can get your revenge there.” Jinhwan wishes he had a set of five eyes so he could see all of their reactions. He’s missing too much to understand their dynamics. Hanbin calmly offers, Hanbyul excitedly contemplates, Germanicus warily eyes his son, Hanbin’s mother wears an impassive mask, and Junhoe watches the both of them, wary of the potential conflict.   
  
“It is your fight,” Germanicus replies, “what you do in celebration is your decision.” It’s a strained comment, and Jinhwan is certain that his father doesn’t approve.   
  
“Can I kick his face?” Hanbyul asks desperately.   
  
“If that’s what you want to do, then of course.” Hanbin replies with a smile.   
  
“I want to break his nose! Can I break his nose?” Hanbyul pleads, the anger replaced by a desperate pout.   
  
Hanbin shrugs. “Maybe.”   
  
Hanbyul glares at him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You said I could!”   
  
Hanbin grins and points at her plate. “Only if you eat your vegetables.”   
  
Hanbyul’s eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she’s looking down, glaring at her plate. “But I hate green beans.”   
  
Jinhwan isn’t sure what’s more surprising—Hanbyul casually stating that she wants to break someone’s nose, Hanbin coercing her into eating vegetables to do it, or their father, silently laughing into his fist.   
  
“Hanbin,” his mother says, and Jinhwan waits for her censure, except that it doesn’t come, “I’d just like to commend you on your excellent bartering skills.” They all break into laughter at her comment, and Jinhwan can’t help his surprise. He feels like he’s in some alternate reality.   
  
Hanbyul sighs and looks at her plate before looking back at Hanbin. “You promise?”   
  
Hanbin nods and reaches across the table, extending his pinky finger out to his sister, who links hers with him. “I swear that if you eat your vegetables, I will bring you into the pit with me when I win, and you can stomp on his face and break his nose.”   
  
Hanbyul sighs again and nods. “Okay.” Then she picks up her fork and shovels the entire mound of beans into her mouth and Jinhwan silently watches her as she chews, before looking around the table and finally meeting the amused gaze of Germanicus.   
  
The older man smiles at him in a resigned sort of way. “It’s Hanbin’s interview.”   
  
Jinhwan looks at Hanbin then, who just grins at him, and despite having been here for a few hours now, he still isn’t entirely sure what to make of the family, they manage to defy every one of his expectations.   


* * *

Jinhwan spends the next seven hours at his desk at work, writing his article. It’s his longest to date, and for once he knows he’s not at risk of getting cut off. They’d be willing to cut other articles to fit his in its entirety.  
  
He’s doing his final round of edits before sending it off to the editing team, who are still here, waiting for him. He re-reads his line about Hanbyul’s cat and remembers Hanbin’s advice to look it up. Maybe, once he reads the person’s history, it might inspire him for some great line to complement his paragraph.   
  
Instead what he finds only leaves him feeling like he doesn’t know a damn thing about Hanbin’s brain.   
  
Because while Legate Lanius does exist, he’s from a fucking video game.   
  
However, in looking over the information one more time out of sheer irritation, he can’t help but smile. He amends his line.   
  
_Crimes against beloved family members can’t go unpunished, and Stray Bullet can expect to be on the receiving end of the fallout in regards to the death of Legate Lanius. (EDITING TEAM: you can’t change this line you have to keep the word fallout!!!! KJ)_   
  
No one else will pick up on the reference, and while he still doesn’t have a firm grasp on his personality, Jinhwan feels positively confident that Hanbin is going to _love_ the throwaway reference, because if he’s learned one thing for sure, it’s that Hanbin chooses his words very carefully, and always for a specific reason.   
  
So Jinhwan’s doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legate Lanius is a character from the videogame "Fallout: New Vegas". I just couldn't resist.


	3. Bloodsport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is doing well out there! ♥
> 
> I have borrowed something in this fic out of a series called "BZRK" by Michael Grant. That would be the biot. It's not quite the same as the way Grant wrote about his, but mine did draw inspiration from his and I used the term "biot" as well. I have to point that out. I highly suggest that series. ♥
> 
> Before getting to this new chapter (which is an absurd 20K words long) I wanted to share something with you guys. That would be my playlist for this story! [The Death Brigade on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uosKh1afQDSPicSfKd3q1?si=WUu3tvH9RLesZXRJKVj4OQ)
> 
> A little explanation about how I put it together: there are 85 songs in the mix. The first song "Bloodsport" by KMFDM vs Skold is the fighting league theme song. The six songs that follow are individual fighter songs (so music they play when they come out for fights). "Son Of A Gun" is Jiwon's music, while "N.W.O." is Hanbin's. I'll reveal who the others belong to when they fight! Of the remaining 78 songs, 36 of them have lyrical relevance to the storyline. Of those 36, I would actually consider 11 of them to be kind of spoiler material (but I won't tell you which ones, of course, nor will I even say what they spoil in the storyline; being purposefully vague, feel free to ask me if you're curious;). The other songs are simply auditory inspiration (if this were ever made into a tv show, I'd want these specific songs played during certain scenes).
> 
> I do listen to this while I write, and every single song is important to the story for me. The vast majority of them are metal/industrial, but there's a spot of rap thrown in the middle, and some lighter songs at the end of the mix. That's why it's so long. I might mention songs from here on out that are relevant to the chapters. The mix is NOT laid out in chronological order!! Some songs that are important to the beginning are near the end, while some that are relevant to the end are near the beginning. I ordered it based on how they sound.

* * *

He dreams of robots, dreams that he is invincible inside a steel shell. His heart beats, and his brain functions, but his body is all technology, a constantly functioning machine never in need of rest. He needs no weapons, because they are all there inside of him already. A flick of the wrist produces a hidden blade, plunged deep into the neck of his enemies. He can fire off an electric charge with voltage so high it’ll sizzle its target like sunday morning bacon—he can smell it already, the scent of crisped flesh.  
  
Maybe he’d even take a bite. Because it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he wasn’t eating it as sustenance. He’d be eating it to make a point. To prove his superiority. To say— _stand in my way and I will absorb you into my very essence, you will become a part of my energy_ —and it’s a good message.  
  
He wakes up with a smile on his face, stirred to life by the internal buzzing of excited nerves, his brain waking him up prematurely in its haste to do some work. For someone who usually wakes up later when half the group is up and making noise the quiet of 06:43 in the morning feels overwhelming and oppressive. His life is not meant to be lived in silence, there’s supposed to be constant noise.  
  
Which makes him think about how nice it would be to have that synthetic arm, the charge of energy constantly buzzing next to his ear, a soothing hum. Maybe he should discuss it with Woosung, his engineer, to work out the possibilities first. To make sure it’s possible. _It has to be possible._  
  
Despite the quiet he doesn’t mind being up early, at least not today. He confirmed with Donghyuk yesterday before going to sleep, confirmed with him about what time newspapers get delivered. There’s a corner store a block away that’s open 24 hours a day, that’s where Donghyuk gets his newspapers, when he feels like reading them. So that’s where Jiwon is going to go. He’ll buy the paper himself and bring it back, and he’ll sit down at the table with a coffee in his hand and read the paper, just like his father used to do when he was a child. Just like Teddy used to do when he was still alive.  
  
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cold concrete of the floor, and thinks about lying back down and kicking his feet up into Donghyuk’s top bunk. He stands up instead and looks at him, studying his sleeping face. Usually he’d flick fingers into his forehead or pinch his ear, or something equally as annoying, but he’s feeling generous this morning, so he actually decides to let him sleep.  
  
He and Donghyuk share a room with four other guys, but it’s one of the bigger rooms, so it’s not too bad. When they’d first arrived they’d slept in a room with twenty other guys, but the compound has grown since then, and with more space comes better quarters. He likes his roommates, at least, and really, they’re all some of the best fighters, so at least they’ve got similar interests to occupy their time outside of training.  
  
He shuffles past the bunk where Jiho sleeps, and thinks back to the other day with the Legion’s cat. It’s funnier to him because Jiho actually likes cats, they both do. If Jiwon could have his own way he’d adopt a cat in a heartbeat. Instead they keep dogs on the compound, and while he likes them, he thinks cats would be better. But that cat wasn’t just a regular animal. It was a symbol of the enemy, and it had to die. If he’d done it he probably wouldn’t have gone to the lengths that Jiho had with the internal organs, but it would have been just as bloody. It’s just the way things work.  
  
The closet area feels more like a locker room, with most of their stuff strewn around everywhere. Donghyuk is the only one out of the six of them who tries to keep his stuff orderly. Jiwon prefers chaos, prefers having to dig his way through a pile of clothes to find what he’s looking for. It feels like more of an accomplishment that way. He grabs the first pair of jeans his can lay his fingers on and nearly topples over as he tries to fit his foot through one of the leg holes. It’s inside out, of course, because he can never be bothered to fold anything properly. He leans against the wall as he sorts his pants out, wondering if he’d even need clothes if he were housed in a robot body? Would he ever get cold? Do robots even sense the temperature?  
  
He gets his pants on and starts pawing through the mound of tangled hoodies. Donghyuk’s on his case all the time to sort his stuff out better because they tend to steal each other’s clothing, and Donghyuk always has a hard time finding his stuff when it migrates into Jiwon’s pile. Usually those complaints result in him messing up Donghyuk’s semi-organized stuff, just to be a pest.  
  
He pulls out an obnoxiously bright yellow hoodie, Champion-branded, and shoves his arms through it. It’s a fitting piece to wear, in his opinion, because he’s going to become a champion on Sunday with his victory. He’s advertising the result right now.  
  
He grabs two mismatched socks and hops on the spot as he pulls them on, nearly tripping into Jiho’s pile of dirty laundry in the process. He’s too giddy to care about looking like a fool, especially since everyone else is still asleep. He spots a pair of yellow Converse high tops by the door (he doesn’t know which one of them they belong to) and pulls them on but leaves the laces undone. He grabs his wallet and flips his hood up over his head before leaving their room, careful not to slam the door behind him.  
  
They’re near the end of the hall so he heads to the side door and steps out into the crisp morning air. There’s a bite in the breeze and he shoves his hands inside his pockets as he walks to the front gate. The sun had only just risen a few minutes ago, so it’s still down behind the building across from their compound. He’s usually not awake until the sun’s well up over his head, and for a second he wishes his body hadn’t woken itself up so early. He wouldn’t have minded an extra bit of time back in bed. Where it’s warm.  
  
He scuffs the shoes into the dirt as he walks, kicking rocks out of his way, grinning when one of them makes a loud clang as it hits the metal garbage bin. He has a fond memory of stuffing a thirteen year old Donghyuk into that garbage bin and not letting him out for an hour, laughing at his protesting yells from inside. He’d done it because Jiho had told him to, said it would be funny. It was funny to everyone but Donghyuk, but in the end it had only made him tougher. Everything they’d ever done since they’d arrived here had made them tougher.  
  
In the entire time that he’s been here he’s never had to pull front gate duty, something that’s reserved for lower ranked guys in the group. He’s too successful as a fighter to be saddled with the burden, a fact he’s very proud of. The guy on night duty sits at his desk, and while he’s supposed to be monitoring the camera, he’s currently slumped over in his chair, head lolled back and eyes closed. Jiwon grins and approaches him, wishes he had the shock spear so he could jolt him awake. It would be funny.  
  
Instead he shoves him forward and grabs his head, locking his arm in under the guy’s chin in a choke hold, chuckling to himself as the guy scrambles into consciousness. “You’re fucking dead,” he speaks into his ear, laughing when the guy is finally awake enough to understand what’s happened.  
  
“Fuck off man, let me go,” he complains, fingers digging in under Jiwon’s arm.  
  
“You owe me a favour, or I’m gonna tell Jiyong,” he threatens before releasing the hold.  
  
The guard massages his neck and coughs. “Yeah fine, whatever. Next time just, I don’t know, don’t be such an asshole about waking me up?”  
  
Jiwon grins and flips him off before exiting the compound and walking north. He thinks about running to the store, just to warm up a bit, but decides against it because he doesn’t want to bother bending down to tie up his shoelaces. There are a few people out on the street already, rushing off to jobs in other parts of the city, trying to beat the early morning commute. No one looks at him, but he’s sure they’re all aware of his presence.  He feeds off the fear they project, feeling powerful against them. They probably all cheer for him during the fights, because as much as he might terrorize them on the street, he’s fighting for them, fighting for their neighbourhood. He’s always been poor, always been from the wrong parts of town. He has fans who cheer for him because of what he represents, but he wants them to be too intimidated to talk to him. It’s a huge sign of respect.  
  
The all night convenience store is warm when he steps inside and it buoys his mood. He walks through the aisles, in need of nothing but his newspaper, but he wants to warm up first. So he picks things up off the shelf, pretends to read their labels, and then returns them before moving along. When he finally gets the chill out of his system he approaches the front counter where the newspapers are kept.  
  
There’s someone ahead of him at the counter, buying a coffee and a newspaper. Usually Jiwon butts his way into lines because he hates waiting. There’s no altercation where a quick flash of his forearm, where he’s got the Death Brigade logo tattooed, won’t solve the problem. But today he’s content to wait, so he does, excitement building up as he gets closer. The man in front of him leaves and Jiwon steps up to the counter, eyeing the stack of rolled up newspapers.  
  
“Can I get a copy of the Chosun Ilbo?” He asks, proud of himself for remembering the name of the paper. The shopkeeper looks at him nervously, eyes flitting between Jiwon and the newspapers. He reaches for one and hands it over.  
  
“Is that all?” The shopkeeper asks, and Jiwon nods. Usually the shopkeeper doesn’t look so wary of him, but maybe he’s got a newfound respect for how dangerous he is given the news of his fight.  
  
“Yeah, just the paper. I have an article on the front page,” he replies, tempted to unfurl it and show the guy.  
  
“Oh, do you?” The shopkeeper replies as he rings in the purchase. “I haven’t had a chance to open one yet.”  
  
“Well you fuckin’ better,” Jiwon replies, “I had this little dipshit writer who came by yesterday to interview me, he’s gonna talk about my big match this weekend.”  
  
The shopkeeper nods and gives him a nervous smile. “Oh that’s wonderful, who are you fighting? I’m sorry if it’s been released already, I’ve been so busy working.”  
  
“That new Legion brat,” Jiwon replies, “finally making his debut and they picked the wrong guy for him. I’m gonna destroy him, his family won’t be able to recognize him when I’m done.” Jiwon throws some bills on the counter. “Keep the change!” He grabs his paper and heads for the exit, and the shopkeeper yells out a good luck to him as he leaves, and Jiwon smirks to himself because luck has _nothing_ to do with it. He’s gonna kick his ass based on his superior fighting skills. End of discussion.  
  
The walk back makes him more excited, the paper in his hands itching to be unfurled, but it’s still too chilly out for him to bother doing it now, even just for a glance, so he quickly makes his way back. But now that he’s been up for a bit hunger is starting to set in too, and he wonders if maybe he ought to try and make himself something to eat to go along with the coffee? Their resident cook won’t be making breakfast for at least another hour or two, and Jiwon’s not exactly skilled in the kitchen.  
  
Maybe he should wake Donghyuk up. Donghyuk could make him breakfast, and he could read the article out loud, too. Jiwon likes listening to him read. Donghyuk reads better than he does as well, because Jiwon gets tripped up over words sometimes. He’s still contemplating when he makes it back to the compound, waiting to be buzzed in by the guard, who waves to him as he passes by. He enters the dormitory by the front door, a big glass monstrosity that weighs a lot. It got kicked in one time, three years ago, after a night of intense drinking. It didn’t get replaced until Jiyong took over, and no matter how drunk any of them get now, they all know better than to purposefully break something that Jiyong has spent money on. There’s a lounge right across from the front door and that’s where he goes now, paper in hand. He tosses it on a table and heads to the counter, grabbing a mug and heading for the coffee machine.  
  
The building’s full of mismatched furniture, like whoever decorated it went to a store and decided to buy just one of everything available. The colours don’t match, the designs don’t match, but Jiwon thinks it suits them perfectly. He hates things that are well organized and pristine. They make him feel anxious. Their coffee machine is a big silver beast, the kind you see at industrial sites with work crews. It sits next to a large black microwave, which is next to a large white refrigerator. The handle needs to be replaced on it, but no one has bothered, so it hangs from its one screw.  
  
He opens the shelves looking for something to eat and comes across packs of instant rice. Not ideal with nothing to flavour it, but it’ll be something to shovel into his mouth, at least, so he takes one out and pops it in the microwave as he waits for his coffee to brew.  
  
He pours himself a full cup, spilling some on the counter (which he doesn’t bother cleaning) and grabs his rice out of the microwave, leaving the door open. He’s too focused on preparing his spot on the table, feeling infinitely proud of himself for getting everything together. He went out and bought his own paper, made his own coffee, and made his own breakfast. He’s never had such an independent morning. Not since he and Donghyuk joined the group, at least.  
  
He sits down at the table in his favourite chair, a simple wooden piece that’s been painted back that has a padded cushion that hasn’t deflated at all since it’s been here. Maybe he’ll carve his name into it after Sunday, declare it _his_ chair so no one else can ever sit in it. It would be deserved, in his opinion.  
  
He takes a sip of his coffee and unfurls the paper, laying it flat before him without really looking at it. Instead he shovels a few spoonfuls of rice into his mouth first, chewing quickly and swallowing it down with another sip of coffee. He’s eager to read it, his first front page piece! But the eagerness is suddenly feeling like a block. He can’t look down and focus, the feeling is bizarre, almost like he’s afraid to look. Except that he’s not afraid. He’s excited.  
  
He closes his eyes and touches the newspaper with his fingers, like he’s trying to absorb it through his skin. He bows his head and takes a few deep breaths, slowly in and slowly out. He does this a few times before holding his breath and opening his eyes, a cursory scan of the entire front of the paper.  
  
He’s confused. He was expecting to see his picture on the front page, expecting to see his name in the headline. But he doesn’t. Instead the person looking back at him has a face he doesn’t recognize right away, his looks refined, his features elegant, with black eyes that seem to swallow you whole. His brown hair is swept back over his forehead, the sides of his head shaved down to nothing. He’s not wearing a shirt and Jiwon’s eyes are drawn to the scripted tattoo on his chest. He doesn’t know what it says, but he hates it. Something about the guy looks familiar and it takes his brain a few seconds to find the name attached to the picture.  
  
 _Kim Hanbin_  
  
Hanbin. His opponent on Sunday.  
  
He can feel it in his gut, the sudden onset disappointment, the feeling of betrayal, of actually being hurt. There are chunks of ice sitting in his stomach, he can feel them growing, freezing him from the inside out as he reads the title of the article, because chances always exist that he bought the wrong paper, maybe he screwed that up again, but no—  
  
 _Glory To The Legion—A New Reign Begins_  
interview by Kim Jinhwan  
  
 _Kim Jinhwan._ The same guy who interviewed him yesterday. The same guy who told him to buy a copy of the paper today to read the article about him.  
  
He flips open to the second page, because maybe something happened and he got bumped off the front page. But there’s nothing there, just like there’s nothing on the third page, or the twentieth page, or even the last page, because he looks through them all.  
  
He goes back to the front page again, wonders if maybe his interview just got bumped to tomorrow’s paper? Maybe the Legion paid the paper to put out Hanbin’s interview first? He scans over the article, not reading the whole thing, but reading sentences here and there, looking for his name.  
  
He finds it. It’s not good.  
  
 _My time with the Legion brings me back to earlier in the day, when I had what I can confidently say was the most uncomfortable experience of my life. I was allowed entry into the camp of the Death Brigade, something that I won’t hesitate to admit I had been excited about earlier in the morning. But pulling up against the heavily fortified compound made me feel like I’d stepped into the middle of a war zone. High walls topped with barbed wire, an electronic gate that requires an operator to open. I was accosted outside the compound before even being allowed in, like some kind of common thug, roughly patted down out in the open, as though I were under suspicion of strapping a bomb to myself. The doormen weren’t exactly the brightest, confiscating my audio recorder as a potential weapon._ _  
__  
__I’ll have to have my boots professionally cleaned after that experience, as mud cakes the entire place, and dust coats my hair. Every step I took inside the compound I was accompanied by heavily armed guards. It was clear that although I had been invited, I was not wanted. I was brought to meet the group’s leader, a man so steeped in delusions of grandeur that he has his own private security detail guarding his office and tailing him around the compound. To what end? I couldn’t help but wonder whether he fears attack from his own people? Imagine yourself at work, sitting behind your desk, and every time your boss walks by he’s flanked by goons carrying automatic weapons. It’s absurd._ _  
__  
__But all of this is eclipsed by my meeting with the competitor, Stray Bullet. When I think back upon my twenty three years of life, and contemplate all matters of disappointment, I must admit that this interview ranks very highly. It’s no secret that I’ve been a fan for a long time, since his debut, but finally I have been exposed to the sad reality of his existence. His image in the pit is strong, powerful, and wild, but in person he was unexpectedly timid, like a trained mutt who’s only too eager to position himself at his master’s feet_ _  
__  
__It’s clear after speaking with him that the many post-fight interviews he’s given must have been heavily coached beforehand, because I was thoroughly disappointed with the quality of his conversation, barely able to string two sentences together. I had the distinct feeling that I was speaking with a small child trapped inside a grown man’s body._ _  
__  
__They arranged a fight for me to witness—the veteran wiping the bottom of their makeshift muddy pit with two inexperienced kids, clearly an attempt to make him look intimidating in person, without all the glamour and effects of the league to cover up for his shortcomings. It was a resounding failure. Watching it reminded me of the professional wrestling of old, ill-timed fake punches and over-exaggerated body slams. There was a clear lack of style, just a mishmash of moves done in succession, like a child demonstrating every move they know in order to attain the next colour belt in a martial arts class._ _  
__  
__Stray Bullet is a fighter who has risen based purely on luck. There is no real skill underneath his haphazard style and wildly thrown punches. His only skill lies in being able to take a hit, and in overpowering more skilled opponents based on their own mistakes. When you see him up close and in person, you see how jarring and awkward his movements are._ _  
__  
__There is nothing impressive there. Nothing to fear. I look forward to Sunday. Finally we will see the claims of greatness debunked, and he’ll be shown as the fake he is._  
  
He’s shaking by the time he finishes reading, seething with rage. This asshole’s made him look like a complete fool. He’s taken things completely out of context, he’s rearranged reality to suit his bullshit agenda. How dare he! He grabs his cup of coffee and throws it at the wall just as Donghyuk enters the room.  
  
“Someone piss in your coffee again?” Donghyuk asks, curious to see him so incensed in the morning.  
  
“No, it’s this—hold on, what do you mean, _again_ ?” Jiwon glares at him, not in the mood for jokes.  
  
Donghyuk smiles sweetly back at him, ignoring the warning signs of his anger. “Nothing. Must have imagined it in a dream.”  
  
Jiwon wants to punch him, because he would have expected Donghyuk to figure out why he’s angry before needing to say anything. The fact that he’s come in, laughing at him, just makes Jiwon angrier. He gets to his feet and kicks the chair in front of him, wants to flip the table over too, but he holds back for now. “It’s this fucking article, you asshole!”  
  
“Your interview from yesterday?” Donghyuk asks, joining him at the table and reaching for the paper. Jiwon lets him have it.  
  
“Just read the bullshit that shithead wrote. Fucking read it!” Jiwon yells, his fingers twitching, and he looks around for something else to throw. He wants to break something, wants to hear the smash and clatter of destruction.  
  
Donghyuk scans over the article and right off the bat he can hear the tone. Though Jiwon had been promised a front page article, it’s clear whose side the journalist in on. Instead of Jiwon’s picture greeting the morning readers, the face of his opponent, Kim Hanbin, cooly looks out. He’s shirtless, wet hair slicked back off his forehead, tattoo visible, eyes as black as the dark of midnight. Donghyuk hates him already, though he’s never met him or seen him in person. Even if he wasn’t Germanicus’ son, he’d still hate him.  
  
“He said that I’ve just been _lucky_ for the past two years,” Jiwon moans, “he says I’m fucking lucky! I’m not lucky, I’m the best fucking fighter in the whole damn league!” Jiwon screams, unable to help the flaring rage. He reaches for his bowl of rice and hurls it at the wall. Usually the sound of shattering ceramic makes him feel better, but for some reason the only thing he can focus on is the rice stuck to the wall, and how, despite his anger, he’s still starving. He wants to take a sledgehammer to it.  
  
Donghyuk quickly scans the rest of the article, eyes narrowing when he gets to the part about the group. “I can’t believe he sold you out like this,” he says, disappointment racing through his veins. He’s always read this guy’s writing, because he’s always had good things to say about Jiwon. He’s even written an article about one of Donghyuk’s fights before, praising him. But he’s always had an obvious thing for Jiwon, has always written about him like he idolizes him. He’s done a complete reversal now, throwing him out to rot in the sun, with vultures circling overhead.  
  
“Jiyong’s gonna be so pissed,” Jiwon says, “I know he’s gonna say it was my fault, I fucking know it!” Jiyong hasn’t spoken to him since the end of the interview, and Jiwon’s been trying to not think about it. He’s going to be hearing from him now, it’s imminent.  
  
“It’s obvious this was his intention all along,” Donghyuk says, “there’s no way you fucked up that bad. Guy’s been up your ass for years, he must have been paid off.”  
  
“You weren’t there, you didn’t hear me,” Jiwon replies, and he kicks the chair in front of him, “it’s probably because I fucked up which paper he writes for. FUCK! How could I be so fucking stupid?!” He kicks the chair again, keeps kicking it until he breaks one of the legs off. The destruction makes him feel marginally better.  
  
“Well take that as a lesson for next time. And stop destroying the lounge,” Donghyuk replies, still reading, “even if you hadn’t fucked up, I’m telling you, he’s clearly going to the money. I mean it _is_ The Legion kid. I don’t know why any of us were expecting better, we’re all fucking clowns.”  
  
Jiwon leans down and picks up the broken off leg, brandishing the splintered wood in his hands, kicking the rest of the chair away. “You wanna go spar? I’m too fucking angry to do anything else.”  
  
“No way,” Donghyuk replies, “you are not taking this out on me.”  
  
“Well I need to take it out on someone!” Before he can think twice about it Jiwon lashes out at Donghyuk, striking him hard in the arm with the chair leg. Donghyuk retaliates by slamming him back against the wall, pummeling him in the stomach.  
  
“Get a fucking grip!” Donghyuk screams into his ear, only to be momentarily blinded by the wooden leg crashing against the side of his skull. Still he drives his knee up in between Jiwon’s legs and the sudden impact knocks the wind out of Jiwon, who crumples to the floor, wheezing.  
  
Donghyuk stands above him, rubbing his head and glaring down at him. “I fucking told you not to hit me!” He yells, watching as Jiwon hunkers down and contracts into a ball, moans punctuated by gasps for air. Once Donghyuk is certain he’s truly down for the count he grabs some paper towel and starts scraping rice off the wall.  
  
Jiwon remains huddled where he is, the emotional hurt manifesting itself easily into the physical pain of having his balls scrambled by Donghyuk’s sharp knee. There’s betrayal there behind the rage, sharp and acute and it feels like his chest is being ripped open.  
  
For two god damn fucking years this asshole journalist wrote nothing but good things about him. Sang his praises like some kind of god among men. Talking him up so much that Donghyuk made a habit of reading the articles out loud to him because he was so proud. And for what?  
  
 _a trained mutt who’s only too eager to position himself at his master’s feet_ _  
__  
__I was speaking with a small child trapped inside a grown man’s body_ _  
__  
__he’ll be shown as the fake he is_  
  
He’s been utterly humiliated in this stupid fucking article. Front page of the biggest newspaper in Seoul and he’s been made to look like a goddamn fool. Jiyong’s going to blame it all on him, he can hear it already. Jiyong’s going to say that he should have spoken better, that he should have been prepared, that he should have known which newspaper he wrote for.  
  
And it’s all true. He should have known.  
  
But that little bitch reporter shouldn’t have goaded him into this shit! Clearly he’d come in with an agenda. He knew he was interviewing both of them. Knew he’d be pandering to the rich assholes. But he still sat there across from him, spoke nicely to him, complimented him…  
  
Then again, maybe this is all Jiyong’s fault. Because when Teddy had been around, he hadn’t allowed any newspaper reporters inside the compound. Hadn’t sat for interviews outside of league shows. Hadn’t tried to forge connections with pathetic little journalists. Teddy had been a man of actions over words, and he never would have let this happen to Jiwon. He would have protected him from this.  
  
It’s all Jiyong’s fault. He should have known that he’d be a shitty interview! Should have known the newspaper would never grant them a front page article when he was going up against the fucking Legion! He should have known all of it and told that reporter to go bare his ass for the Legion’s dogs to fuck. Because Jiyong never hesitates to remind them all that he’s their superior, that he’s smarter than they are, that he’s better. So why didn’t he see it coming? Why did he let him in? Why did he let Jiwon spend an hour with him, when it was all going to backfire?  
  
Maybe he did it on purpose. Maybe Jiyong’s trying to set him up, trying to make everyone hate him, trying to throw him off his game so he’ll lose. Because he’s always felt like Jiyong never really liked him. From the first day Teddy had brought he and Donghyuk into the group he’d felt it from Jiyong, the dislike, the disapproval. Before he’d come along, Jiyong had been Teddy’s favourite, he’d been the protégé, the one who always had the attention.  
  
But then Jiwon had come in, hand plucked by Teddy right off the street, and suddenly all the attention had shifted. It hadn’t even been his fault! He’d spent so long taking care of Donghyuk, had spent so long barely surviving. Was it really such a bad thing to want to repay someone for saving you from that? He’d just wanted to show his appreciation. He’d wanted Teddy to know that he’d repay him for saving his life with unswerving loyalty.  
  
But Jiyong had considered it an encroachment. Jiwon knew, from the first day that Teddy had made Jiyong train him to fight. He’d seen it in Jiyong’s eyes, the hatred. Maybe he hadn’t known it for what it was at the time, hadn’t really ever known until right now, but he’d always felt that something was off. It’s all making sense now.  
  
He’s not stupid. He might not be smart, but he’s not stupid either. He’s seen Jiyong spar with other guys, has watched how Jiyong trains them. It’s always been different with him. Jiyong had always taken every opportunity to make him look bad, to make him look like some stupid kid. He took joy out of it. He’s probably doing the same thing right now, he’s probably sitting in his office, obscenely expensive boots up on his desk, reading the article and smiling to himself. Jiyong never smiles, but Jiwon’s certain this is something he’ll be smiling about.  
  
He finally manages to pull himself into a seated position and he looks up to see Donghyuk scraping rice off the wall.  
  
“I bet Jiyong’s laughing about this.”  
  
“Shut up!” Donghyuk hisses at him, turning to stare at him with panicked eyes. “Don’t say that, he’d never do that to you.”  
  
“Of course he would,” Jiwon replies, “he’s hated me ever since Teddy took us in. I’ve always felt it.”  
  
Donghyuk shakes his head. “We are not going over this again, it’s ridiculous. And don’t you dare speak that shit out loud either.” Donghyuk turns back to the wall, rattled at Jiwon’s outspoken words. He actually agrees with him, knows with all the certainty in his soul that Jiyong does not like Jiwon. But he’s terrified of Jiyong, always has been, but ever since Jiyong officially took over he’s been even more chilled. He knows that Jiyong has cameras and microphones set up around the camp and the lounge is an obvious place for one, though he’s never seen them. Donghyuk doesn’t take stupid chances. When he dies it’s going to be in the pit, with a weapon in his hands. He wants to go out giving the crowd a spectacular show after a long and successful run. He doesn’t want to die young because he’s pissed off his narcissistic boss. It would be a monumental waste of life.  
  
Blaming it on Jiyong makes Jiwon feel better, and he ignores Donghyuk’s censure. He can afford to talk shit, because after he wins on Sunday, he’ll be the highest ranked member of the group. Even higher than Jiyong. He’ll have the authority to speak up for himself and challenge Jiyong, finally.  
  
Maybe he’ll even challenge him for leadership. Maybe he could run the group. It’s a tempting thought, dismantling Jiyong’s control. Maybe what they need is a leader who’s willing to get his hands dirty. Jiyong’s been sitting in a pristine office for too fucking long.  
  
So Jiwon has a new reason for winning on Sunday. He needs out from under Jiyong’s control, and the only way he can do that is by winning. By killing Kim Hanbin. His own life hangs in the balance.

* * *

  
“I’ve adjusted the exposure down a bit, so it shouldn’t be as bright this time.” Yunhyeong activates the biot, brings it out of slumber, and then he waits for Hanbin’s response. “Are you seeing it?” Hanbin doesn’t answer right away, but Yunhyeong can tell by the way he’s looking around, side to side, slowly, that Hanbin can see the feed. The biot project is something he’s been working on with his father for the past seven years, and he thinks they’ve finally gotten it perfect.  
  
“It looks good,” Hanbin finally answers before sitting back against the wall and getting that zoned out look on his face that means that he’s paying more attention to the biot’s field of vision.  
  
The biot is a miniscule piece of technology created specifically to grant extra sight. Yunhyeong had been a quick study for microrobotics as a child, and Hanbin has been the perfect test candidate. It works like this—the biot is a tiny robot, about half the size of an ant, and has advanced optical sights that transmit its own field of vision right into Hanbin’s retina. It’s half technology uplink, and half Frankenstein biology. The biot was created using Hanbin’s DNA, so it will only connect with him.  
  
Hanbin likes to call it his _third eye_ , or, if he’s feeling dramatic, he’ll refer to it as the _carrion crow_ . Yunhyeong prefers to call it what it is—a biot. He has none of Hanbin’s penchant for dramatics.  
  
Yunhyeong’s got plans to make a slightly larger version that can fly on its own, because the current model is limited to foot traffic only. It’s a slow mover, given its size, but it’s good enough for its intended purpose, which is to give Hanbin blind sight during his fights. He’s watched him train with it numerous times, watched him use it to navigate attacks while blindfolded. Even though Yunhyeong knows that it works, he’s still amazed every single time that they get good results.  
  
Hanbin wants to use it on Sunday for his debut match, so Yunhyeong has been making some last minute adjustments to it. One of Hanbin’s complaints was the brightness of the projected image in his field of vision. Since he sees it as an overlay image on top of what he’s looking at directly, Yunhyeong had made it brighter so it would be easier to distinguish. But Hanbin’s said that it gives him a headache if he uses it for too long, so he’s been playing around with it, trying to find the perfect level. He thinks he’s got it right this time.  
  
“Have you worked out where it is?” Yunhyeong asks, because he’s placed the biot somewhere special, just to see if Hanbin can figure out its location.  
  
“Still working it out,” Hanbin replies, “but I have it narrowed down to three places.”  
  
Yunhyeong grins and watches the link on his screen. Hanbin can control the movements of the biot himself using his brain, while Yunhyeong gets the visual through his computer screen. He can control the biot using a special program, but he never does it without Hanbin’s permission. The computer link isn’t perfect, they’ve hit dead zones before where he can’t access it. But Hanbin’s control seems to be absolute, and so far they’ve tested it for up to a kilometre away, which exceeded Yunhyeong’s expectations. They’ve been meaning to test it from further away, but there hasn’t been a need yet.  
  
“This is going to be great for Sunday,” Hanbin says casually, slowly spinning in his chair, his feet pushing against the floor in a repetitive pattern. He’s gotten very good at distinguishing between the two visual feeds, though it had been a serious period of adjustment at first. He’d thrown up the first time he’d gotten the secondary feed in his head, too much for his optic nerve to process. It had taken him three weeks until he could look at both without feeling any nausea, and now it’s a welcome addition. Having the double sight makes him feel superior to everyone else around him, like he’s ascended onto a higher plane of human existence.  
  
The biot could be given to anyone, but it takes a special strength to be able to wield it to such deadly accuracy as he does. He knows he’s right to take pride in it.  
  
“No headaches?” Yunhyeong asks, watching the feed on his screen as the biot moves around to get different visuals.  
  
“No, it feels comfortable. It’s clear against my regular vision, but not overbearing.”  
  
“Perfect! That makes me very happy to hear.”  
  
“Is it in Junhoe’s bathroom?” Hanbin suddenly asks.  
  
“Is that your final answer?” Yunhyeong teasingly replies.  
  
“Yeah, I just found his shampoo, saw the words _colour treated_ so it has to be his.”  
  
“An astute observation!” Yunhyeong answers, glad it hadn’t taken him long to figure it out. That means that the optics uplink is working perfectly.  
  
“We should test it somewhere with lower lighting just to be sure,” Hanbin says, getting up from the chair and heading to the door of the lab. “I’m gonna go retrieve it.”  
  
“Let’s meet down at pit 3,” Yunhyeong says, unplugging his laptop, “we can mimic the actual venue lighting and test for accuracy.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan, meet you there.” Hanbin exits the lab and heads for the end of the hall, not wanting to wait for the elevator. He pulls open the stairwell door just as a figure goes jogging up the steps. He grins at the shock of blonde hair.  
  
“What did you do to get stuck on stair duty?” Hanbin yells after him, because from the way Junhoe’s huffing it’s clear that he’s just run all the way up from the first floor, where he should be right now, training with his jiu jitsu instructor.  
  
“Fuck,” Junhoe wheezes, “it wasn’t, even bad!”  
  
Hanbin laughs and takes the stairs two at a time to catch up. “No really, what was it this time?”  
  
“Hanbin,” Junhoe’s face is red from the exertion, “I don’t, have time, for your, bullshit, questions,” Junhoe’s response is punctuated in between hard breaths.  
  
“Oh my god, this is your second run isn’t it?” Hanbin can tell by the way Junhoe’s having trouble breathing. Usually, if he gets stair duty, he’s only made to run up the full 21 flights once, and then back down. But he’s never this hard of breath, his stamina is better. Being on his second run up is the only explanation that makes any sense. Hanbin stops when he makes the realization, watching Junhoe and laughing.  
  
Junhoe makes it to the top and stops, leaning over with his hands on his knees. When Hanbin finally walks up the remaining steps to join him at the top Junhoe lashes out and punches him in the ass.  
  
“Fuck, off!”  
  
Hanbin only laughs harder, because the punch is nowhere near hard enough to matter. “You hit like a newborn,” Hanbin chides him, leaning against the door and grinning. Junhoe flips him off before turning to begin his descent back down the staircase and Hanbin can’t stop the peel of laughter as he watches him. Junhoe’s mouth is constantly getting him into trouble and Hanbin’s glad for it. He exits through the door onto the top floor, heading down the hall to Junhoe’s suite, which is across the hall from Hanbin’s.  
  
There are eight suites on the top floor, reserved for high ranking members of the Legion. When Hanbin had been a child he’d lived with his parents for the first five years of his life, until his grandfather had retired from fighting and his father had officially taken over as the head of The Legion. At that point his parents had moved into the master suite, while Hanbin remained in their old suite. His grandparents had moved in with him.  
  
It had been an interesting change of pace, living under the direct and watchful eye of his paternal grandfather. His grandparents were much more strict than his parents had been, and in his first few months of retirement, his grandfather had begun molding Hanbin into a perfect tiny replica of his father. Everyone said it was uncanny, how alike they were in mannerisms. It was all because of his grandfather, Hanbin knew it. People like to say it was biology, but Hanbin believes in the _nature vs nurture_ concept, likes to believe in the logical reasons. It’s not that he dislikes the comparisons, because there’s no one he respects more than his father (except for his mother). He just dislikes the idea of applauding something that has no need of being applauded.  
  
His grandparents had remained with him for another six years, until Hanbyul was a year old and Hanbin was eleven. That’s when life had taken the greatest change of course. That was the year that Junhoe’s parents had been assassinated. Junhoe’s father had been his father’s closest friend, while Junhoe’s mother had been involved in parliament with Hanbin’s mother.  
  
The assassination had been meant as a warning against his parents—motivated in equal parts by the fighting industry and politics. His mother had been in the process of having new regulations passed in parliament, motions that were incredibly divided. The warning had been intended to stifle those motions, to remind his family that even those at the very top were not always safe.  
  
The attack had managed to have the opposite effect, though. His mother, in a move of brazen defiance against her detractors, had used the moment to her advantage, declaring a state of emergency and rallying the public to her cause, which ended with his mother securing herself singular power over the government for the following year while investigations were made into the deaths. Evidence was planted to remove members of the opposition, and when things had gone back to normal a year later, half the opposition party had been replaced with moles.  
  
Her impassioned speech from that day is still played often, a reminder to stand strong against your enemies. Hanbin listens with pride every time, and as each year passes he understands how she had used the situation to her utmost advantage. His mother is shrewd and cunning, and the ease with which she bends others to her will is something he strives to replicate in his own actions.  
  
His father is a man of action, while his mother is a woman of words. Hanbin wants to excel at using both of those things to get what he wants.  
  
The deaths had also had another unexpected change to their lives—his parents had adopted Junhoe. Hanbin had been happy, since Junhoe was his closest friend. But six months after the events, his grandparents had moved out of the country, taking a position in Tokyo as special consultants to the Japanese emperor.  
  
So Junhoe had moved in with Hanbin, and so too did Hanbyul. His parents had explained to him the importance of learning to care for another human so entirely reliant upon them, and he’d felt proud at their decision to trust him with her care. It had been frustrating, of course, because she’d been so young. But Hanbyul had quickly taken to him. By the time she was three, he was the only person she would stop crying for.  
  
Five years later his parents had allowed Junhoe to move into his own suite, which Hanbin had only pretended to be sad about, for Junhoe’s sake. Junhoe is notoriously messy, while Hanbin likes to keep things in order. Hanbyul stayed with him, and at least twice a month she would climb into his bed in the middle of the night, sniffling about a nightmare. He’d tell her funny stories until she laughed and fell asleep. Those times are coming to an end, though, now that she’s coming out of childhood and he’s finally getting his debut.  
  
He opens the door to Junhoe’s suite and heads for his bathroom, shaking his head at the state of disarray. They have maids who clean once a week, but even that doesn’t help Junhoe keep his shit together. It’s not Hanbin’s problem to worry about anymore.  
  
He finds the tiny biot in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. He puts a finger down for it to climb up onto, and it’s such a bizarre thing, to see the human finger up close from such a tiny vantage point. Ridges of skin stick up, the valleys and peaks of his fingerprint. He puts the biot on his ear, where it sits as he makes his way back down to Yunhyeong.  
  
Pit 3 is a replica of the pit used for the league, just without all the seating. Yunhyeong’s already seated at his table, linked into the lighting directory, playing around with settings.  
  
“I’m going to leave it on you,” Hanbin says by way of greeting, reaching up to his left ear to retrieve his biot. He lets it climb onto Yunhyeong’s offered hand before he jumps down into the pit.  
  
The pit itself is ten feet deep, thirty feet across, rounded on all sides. The floor is made of a recycled rubber composite for some extra give. Originally it had been all cement, but as time went on and fighters began adapting to flashier styles too many unnecessary injuries had occurred due to poor landings on the floor. With more give it enables them to feel more secure when attempting flashier acrobatic moves. Which suits Hanbin well.  
  
The sides of the pit are draped in chain link in order to let fighters climb the walls. It’s also used to mount weapons, offering them a variety of tools to enhance the fight. Hanbin rarely uses weapons when he fights, though he is trained on all of them. He prefers to use momentum—both his and his opponents. It’s a different style that isn’t often seen with Legion fighters. His father prefers to fight with weapons that are reminiscent of old Roman gladiators. Junhoe likes to use weapons as well, though not to the same extent.  
  
Hanbin prefers to be his own weapon, and with the second sight of his biot, he’s proven beyond formidable in training. The biot is something of a secret that not many people know about, and they intend to continue to employ the mystery surrounding it. Your opponent can’t prepare for something if they don’t even know it exists.  
  
He looks up from the centre of the pit, judging the brightness of the lights. While he’s never fought in the league pit before, he has stood inside it multiple times with his father, just to get a feel for what it’ll be like, fighting inside the cavernous arena venue. It took his breath away the first time he’d stood there and stared up into the empty seats above, knowing that one day he would take his rightful place there.  
  
It’s three days away, and he’s never felt more ready for anything in his life.

* * *

  
Ten minutes before midnight on Friday is when they conduct Hanbin’s _Naming Day_ celebration, which is a small affair for the family only. They assemble in a private temple on top of the building, made to resemble the ancient Roman temple to Mars Ultor, but on a much smaller scale. It is an open air temple, but the heat from lit braziers keeps even Hanbyul warm in the chill air of late October.  
  
Hanbin and his father stand facing each other in front of a marble statue of the war god Mars, and all in attendance are dressed in traditional Roman garb for the occasion, togas and sandals and crowns made of filigree golden leaves. There aren’t many things they do that draw from old Roman culture, but this is one of them.  
  
Hanbin is wearing a toga of deep rich purple, the colour associated with emperors. His parents wear the same colour, as will Hanbyul when she comes of age. Junhoe, however, will not.  
  
Hanbin kneels in front of his father, eyes closed, the heavy scent of burning coal surrounding him. Until now he has worn a much thinner crown than his father, but tonight will see that crown replaced with a perfect replica of the one that sits on his father’s head. The complete match of their outfits signifies that they are now completely equal social rank within the group. This will last until his father officially retires from fighting, at which point Hanbin will assume his position as the ultimate head.  
  
This is the day he’s been waiting so long for, the excitement brimming so strongly he could barely sleep. He’ll finally learn his name, finally assume his full identity. His father speaks at the exact stroke of midnight, on a night of clear skies and a full moon. He has prepared his own speech for Hanbin’s celebration, and as eager as Hanbin is to hear his name, he is also eager to hear what his father has to say.  
  
“My firstborn, your day has arrived, a day which we both have been eagerly waiting for. You prove to me every day that our family has been blessed with your arrival. Now we will consider you a blessing to the Legion. May you strike fear into the hearts of your opponents with the explosive nature of your cruelty, to bless us with a new era of unforgiving rule. Thus I name you Caligula, and I bid you to rise, favoured son of the Legion, and join me at its head.”  
  
 _Caligula._ He loves the way it rolls off the tongue, loves the sound. It sounds every bit as dramatic as he’d been hoping for, and he stands face to face with his father. They clasp forearms and lean into each other, foreheads touching, ready to speak the last words of the event.  
  
“Long have you reigned,” Hanbin begins, recalling words he’s learned years ago in preparation.  
  
“And long may you reign in my wake,” his father continues.  
  
“Blood you have spilled, and the blood of my forebears, stains my hands now.”  
  
“Wear it well, and wear it proudly.”  
  
They release their hold then and Hanbin’s old crown is placed on a cushion of velvet, to be locked away until the day comes that he fathers a child of his own to continue their line. They turn to face the family together, who rise and bow as they pass, and once they’re outside of the temple that’s it for pomp and pageantry. They lead the group back into the building, to the formal dining hall where they’ll be joined by a few higher ranking members of the Legion to share a meal. Hanbin walks next to his father with a sense of pride, feeling an inflated sense of self. He is finally where he is meant to be, and all he has left to do now is destroy his opponent on Sunday.

* * *

  
Jinhwan’s had a guy tailing him ever since the interview. It might be different guys, he’s not sure, because they all look similar and wear the same outfit, like it’s a uniform. All he knows about them is that they’re definitely from The Legion, guys sent to watch over him in the wake of his controversial article. He hadn’t finished writing it until nearly midnight on Wednesday, which was actually quite impressive given how much he’d had to write about. He’d gone home with the intention of talking to his editor the following day about hiring someone to watch his building at least, because he didn’t want anyone inconveniencing his brother.  
  
But he’d woken up the following morning to a text from his boss, telling him to take the next two days off as a reward for the article. So he’d gone back to sleep for another few hours before finally sitting up in bed and scrolling through online forums, reading reactions to his article.  
  
It was actually a little overwhelming. He found himself with equal heaps of praise and hate, with some claiming that he’d written the article of the year, and others who threatened to punch his face in if they ever saw him. He’d been kicked off his position as a fighting correspondent for one of the on-line groups he’d been working with (they were Death Brigade focused, so it wasn’t surprising) but had been offered another similar position with a different site who were even willing to pay him for his work. It almost felt like going out to dinner with your date and getting dumped, only to get picked up by someone even hotter.  
  
He hadn’t left the apartment at all on Thursday, content with the fresh air his balcony provided. But when he’d gone out Friday morning he’d noticed the goon standing at the end of the hall, watching his door, and he’d been a split second away from bolting when the guy flashed the inside of his arm. There was a large tattoo of an eagle with its wings spread. It was a Legion symbol.  
  
Jinhwan had his protection, and it hadn’t come from his boss. While it was nice to know that they understood his need for protection and were willing to offer it, it was also chilling. Sending guys to watch over him served two purposes:  
  
1) It let everyone else know not to fuck with him  
2) It reminded him that he was now considered Legion property  
  
He remembered his meeting with Hanbin, the vaguely threatening admission of considering Jinhwan a _family friend._ Well, at least no one from the other side’s going to be breaking into his apartment. He just hopes that Jinwoo won’t work out what’s going on. The last thing Jinhwan needs is for Seunghoon to come around, questioning why he needs bodyguards.  
  
He’d been given a notice on Saturday, a paper slid under his door, telling him that they’d be transporting him to the fight on Sunday. It was a little strange in this day and age to be receiving paper correspondence, but then when he thought about it, he knew it was being done as a way to cover their tracks. You can’t trace physical paper the way you can trace a phone call or an e-mail.  
  
He’s ready early on Sunday, having spent the better part of the afternoon primping himself up for the night. Usually he doesn’t dress up for fight cards, he goes for comfort in the press box. But he wants to look nice this time, and he’s sure Hanbin will judge him if he shows up looking like a bum. So he dresses in black pants and a black tank top that he wears under a black cashmere sweater. He’s bringing a leather jacket too, and since he usually burns like a furnace he’ll probably take the sweater off and just wear the jacket. He finishes the look with a pair of black snakeskin ankle boots, shoes he saves for very special occasions. He might not be rich, but he has enough expensive pieces in his wardrobe to look the part on occasions of formality.  
  
Jinwoo comes into his room while he’s getting ready, watching him with a curious expression.  
  
“Why are you all dressed up?”  
  
Jinhwan looks at his brother, who’s leaning against his doorframe, and winks at him. “I’m meeting someone after the fight.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Am I going to like this someone?” Jinwoo asks, his tone actually sounding just a bit teasing. Jinhwan feels guilty about it, because he hasn’t actually told Jinwoo about his article, about how he’d switched sides so drastically. Since Jinwoo stays away from anything relating to the industry, he doesn’t know about anything that’s going on.  
  
Part of his brain screams at him to be honest with his brother, but the other part wins out. Knowing Jinwoo, he’d only spend all his time worrying. Jinhwan would rather let him believe that he’s got a potential relationship on the go. “You might,” Jinhwan replies teasingly, “depends on your mood that day.”  
  
Jinwoo smiles at him, which Jinhwan can see in the reflection of his mirror. “I’ve always said that I hate those snakeskin boots,” he says, “but I have to admit that they do really finish off any look of yours.”  
  
Jinhwan grins and wonders why Jinwoo’s being so friendly. It feels like it’s been years since his brother has said anything playful to him. “Wear them to work some time, see if your robot kids like them.”  
  
Jinwoo comes into his room fully, walking over to stand behind him. “What are you doing with your hair?”  
  
Jinhwan looks at him in the mirror, surprised by the question. It’s very impractical for Jinwoo to be asking. He’s never taken much interest in Jinhwan’s physical appearance before, except to tell him that he looks tired all the time. “I don’t know, do you have any ideas?”  
  
Jinwoo reaches for the tin of pomade on his dresser. “Wear it slicked back, it’ll make you look like more of a bad ass to match that jacket.” He scoops a bit of it out and starts running his hands through Jinhwan’s hair, pulling it back over his head. Jinhwan rarely wears his hair like this, but it does look good. When Jinwoo finishes he wipes his hands off on a towel that Jinhwan holds out to him, and then surprises his younger brother by hugging him.  
  
“Are you okay, Jinu?” Jinhwan asks, extremely confused about his brother’s actions. They haven’t been like this in so long, and Jinhwan can’t help but feel a panging in his heart to have this more often.  
  
“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to worry you, but for the past few days I’ve noticed someone following me to and from work. I don’t know what’s going on, maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s just someone who works nearby. But it just has me worried, and I realized that I’ve been so hard on you for the past few years. You know it’s because I love you, right?”  
  
Jinhwan can feel the precise second when his conscience kicks him in the stomach, and he has to fight to keep the guilt off his face. On one hand, he’s grateful to The Legion for protecting Jinwoo too. But then he feels guilty that he never told him, guilty that he’s been nervous about having a personal bodyguard. But then he also feels apprehensive, like this is yet another moment of Hanbin and his family staking their claim over him. Because sure, on the surface, following Jinwoo is for his protection and Jinhwan’s peace of mind.  
  
But it also means that if he makes Hanbin unhappy, they won’t hesitate to use Jinwoo against him.  
  
“I’m sure it’s nothing Jinu,” Jinhwan replies, turning to face his brother, “and I know, I promise. I know I usually yell at you for it, but, I guess that’s just what younger brothers do, right? But I do appreciate it, even if I don’t say it.” He hugs Jinwoo tightly, feeling like crap, but deciding that after tonight’s match, he’ll come clean with his brother. He’ll tell him the truth.  
  
Provided Hanbin wins, of course. It’ll be the prudent thing to do.  
  
Jinwoo lets him go and steps back, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You might be a pain to me sometimes, but I hope this person you’re meeting with makes you happy.”  
  
Jinhwan bites his lip and nods, feeling even worse. Wonders if Jinwoo’s sudden emotional moment is actually brought on at the thought of him dating someone? Because Jinhwan’s never had a serious partner, has never brought anyone home. Of course Jinwoo wants to see him happy. “Well, it’s a little early for you to be getting that worked up about it, but I promise you that when I do find someone, it’ll be someone who does make me happy. And I promise they’ll make you happy too.”  
  
That seems to placate Jinwoo. “Thanks for indulging my sappy moment,” he says with an embarrassed smile.  
  
“Hey, I’ll take you being sappy over you yelling at me any day of the week,” Jinhwan answers, “but I have to get going now. You have plans for the night?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m just going to Seunghoon’s for dinner, we’re entertaining a few of his co-workers. It’ll be nice and quiet.”  
  
“The opposite of my night,” Jinhwan jokingly replies, “alright well I have to get going. Have a nice night, I’ll be home late, I don’t know if you’re coming back or staying at Seunghoon’s, but I can text you if you want.”  
  
“That would be nice,” Jinwoo replies, “I’ll probably stay at his place. You don’t mind?”  
  
Jinhwan shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about me spending a night alone, Jinu. I’m a fully functioning adult, so you go spend the night with your boyfriend. Go get laid.” Jinhwan laughs as Jinwoo smacks his arm on his way past him, and then he’s out the door and heading for the elevators. His security detail follows him inside, but they don’t talk to each other.  
  
There’s a black Mercedes Benz in front of his building already, with tinted black windows, bearing a Legion branded license plate. They’re really going all out for him, and while it’s exciting, it’s still painting him into that corner that he can’t get out of. Not that he wants to get out of it just yet, but he’s sure that one day it might feel like too much of a cage.  
  
His guard doesn’t follow him into the car, but Jinhwan can see the strap of a gun holster on the driver’s back. It’s obvious and flagrant but he doubts the police would say anything against them for it. He buckles his seatbelt and looks up at the rearview mirror, not surprised when he sees the reflection of the driver looking back at him.  
  
“Is the music okay?” The driver asks, and Jinhwan is surprised at the question. Then again he’s also surprised at the music. It’s not that loud and he doesn’t have any idea who the artist is, and he’s not the biggest fan of rap to begin with, but it’s actually surprisingly enjoyable. It’s just not what he would have expected a Legion driver to be playing.  
  
“It’s fine,” he replies, and then the driver pulls away from his building and merges into traffic. They don’t talk on the way there, and Jinhwan uses his time to check things out on-line, to read up on expectations for the fight. The betting odds all favour Hanbin, of course, and he’s sure that his article is at least partly to blame. He’d feel guilty if he had more of a conscience.  
  
There’s a bit of a queue for the cars at the venue, and he realizes that his driver isn’t dropping him off at the media entrance where he normally goes in, but has lined him up to drop him at the celebrity guest entrance. He feels a prickle of nerves in the pit of his stomach. Is he going to get a Legion escort inside? He’s being painted as a Legion tool, and he hopes it won’t hurt his professional career. As long as Hanbin wins tonight, he should be fine.  
  
And really, he should be grateful that he’s been hand-selected for this. If he keeps Hanbin happy, then he’ll continue to get these big interviews, and he’ll probably be able to negotiate himself a big raise at work. But he also wants to be free to pursue his other leads, and this might give him too much of a big name. It’s a slippery slope, and he has to balance his journalistic integrity with his monetary future.  
  
The car stops and his door is opened, and he feels like a bit of a celebrity when he steps his heeled boots out onto the red carpet. He was right to follow his gut instinct in regards to dressing up for the night. Hanbin would be displeased with him if he’d gotten out on the red carpet looking bad.  
  
He’s followed inside by a different Legion security guy, who follows him to the media suite to collect his badge.  
  
“It’s recommended that you remain in the media suite during the show,” the guy tells him, and Jinhwan takes a moment to study his face.  
  
“What happens if I don’t follow that advice?”  
  
“I’ll follow you wherever you go, of course. But it would make things much easier on all of us if you don’t go wandering. I’m sure you understand the position you’re in. You’ve been selected for an illustrious role with our organization. That comes with responsibilities when in public.”  
  
“Understood.” As expected—he’s not quite in control of his life anymore.  
  
“I’ll bring you to them after the fight, he’ll want to speak with you following his victory.”  
  
“Of course, I’m looking forward to that interview.” Jinhwan nods to him and enters the media suite, already taking off his jacket. His guard remains outside the room, and no one from the building or league security seems to care that he’s there. Jinhwan heads for his usual seat in the second row, behind an old guy named Jung Haechan who’s been covering fights since before Jinhwan was born. The old guy’s always been nice to him.  
  
But tonight Haechan looks back at him when he settles in, huffing at the look of him, fancy outfit and slicked back hair. “Quite the article you put out this week,” he says, and Jinhwan feels a prickle of nerves in his stomach.  
  
“Thank you,” he replies, as he sets up his laptop.  
  
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” They stare at each other for a moment, and Jinhwan is pretty sure that all eyes in the media room are glued to them. Of course he’ll be greeted with some level of disapproval from some of his fellow writers.  
  
He contemplates all the ways he can answer, quickly rooting out which way he should reply. But then he thinks about Hanbin, calls to mind his calm confidence, and wonders what he’d want him to say? He smiles back at Haechan. “All the same, I’ll choose to take it as a compliment.”  
  
Haechan’s features narrow in anger, but Jinhwan feels a tiny surge of pride at his choice. Because really—why shouldn’t he be proud? Technically speaking it was a good article, his writing was engaging and detailed. Sure, it wasn’t all _true,_ but the truth itself isn’t what makes an article _good._ They’ve all been writing long enough to know that. He’s not about to let any of them pull double standards on him.  
  
Maybe, after Hanbin wins tonight, maybe he’ll come extra early before the next fight card, and sit in Haechan’s seat. Just to prove to him what his alliance can bring him. He’s aware of his own hypocrisy, of feeling wary about having his life controlled now, but still using it to his advantage against other people.  
  
But that’s the situation he’s gotten himself into, and that’s what his life is on the verge of becoming.  The only thing he can do is hope he carries it through with grace.

* * *

  
Jiwon’s in the darkness, lights turned off, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. It’s not that he’s nervous or doubtful. He’s just thinking, something he doesn’t do often. He feels compelled to do it tonight, though, feels like he wants to contemplate things before he fights for once.  
  
Everything is riding on this fight. If he wins, he’ll be in a position to make demands for himself and Jiyong won’t be able to disregard him so cooly. But if he loses, it’ll mean death. He remembers Jiyong’s warning.  
  
 _If you lose, you’d better hope he kills you._  
  
He’s not going to lose, of course, but that line still sends chills down his spine, makes the entire cavity of his midsection that houses all his internal organs feel like it’s packed with solid ice. He can’t afford to lose this match. He’s got too much riding on a positive outcome. He’s been dreaming about it for years, has been planning his revenge against the Legion.  
  
There’s a knock on the door and he looks up as it cracks open. It’s Donghyuk.  
  
“You ready to come out of the closet?” Donghyuk asks with a leering grin, and Jiwon cracks a smile at him, but doesn’t quite feel up to responding to the teasing.  
  
“Is it time?” He stands up and rubs his hands on his thighs, feeling the texture of the fabric. He’s wearing black jeans, black combat boots, and a black hoodie. He’ll take the hoodie off before he fights, he just likes to wear it down to the ring.  
  
Donghyuk nods and leans against the door. “Yeah, Jiyong told me to find you. Wants to have a last minute talk before we go down.”  
  
Jiwon nods and follows Donghyuk back to their dressing room, where the rest of the group is assembled. Since it’s such an important match he’s going to have the full entourage walk down to the pit with him, all the Death Brigade’s top fighters are here for the occasion. He heads over to Jiyong, who’s sitting with Jiho and Chaelin. He sees Woosung over in the corner with the new kid, Chanwoo, discussing the computer set up he uses during the fights.  
  
Donghyuk sticks next to Jiwon, and it’s got him suddenly thinking back to their past on the street. He’s done good for Donghyuk, kept him alive and safe all those years when it was just the two of them. They might bicker and fight a lot now, but they’re both doing well. They’re strong, no one fucks with them, and now he’s going to get his shot at being on top, and he’ll do whatever he can to make sure that Donghyuk gets his shot at glory next.  
  
He sits down across from Jiyong, whose eyes regard him with all their usual air of distaste. Jiyong doesn’t call for everyone’s attention, he addresses Jiwon only, and Jiwon listens to one last discussion of plans and tactics. A few minutes later someone from the league is at their door, and Jiwon follows Jiyong out into the hall, down the entrance tunnel. He usually only walks down to the pit with Woosung and Donghyuk, or if the match is an important one, Jiyong will also accompany him. He’s only had one occasion where he’s had the full group of guys walk down with him, a year ago when he got his first big match against one of the top fighters from another group called the _Organ Grinders._ That victory is what had really moved him up into the upper tier, because everyone had expected the other guy to win. Instead Jiwon had destroyed him.  
  
He’s feeling oddly serene at the moment, when usually by now he’s so hyped up that not even Jiyong’s withering stare could calm him down. He’s sure his usual excited energy will come out when his music starts and he walks out to the cheers of his fans.  
  
He’d been feeling unsure the past few days since the article, wondering if it would flip any of them against him. But when he saw them on his walk into the building earlier it reinforced to him that his fans aren’t to be swayed by one lying newspaper article. He’s going to show up that journalist tonight, can’t wait to call him out personally after he wins. He’ll fuck Hanbin up so bad that he’ll expose the guy as a fraud journalist, who cares more about making money than reporting the truth.  
  
He can hear the crowd now that they’re near the entrance, and then he sees the lights go out, and he knows that any second now the opening notes of his entrance music will start. The moment they do the atmosphere changes, around him and inside of him, he can feel the energy crackle to life in his veins, and he thinks about his desires to be part robot again, thinks that this is how it would feel to be plugged in and turned on.  
  
The crowd roars at his music, it’s so loud, he can feel them shaking the stands that extend up above. The lights are still out but as soon as the guitars kick in he can feel the others running past him, positioning themselves down the ramp, waiting to create that tunnel for him to walk down the middle of. Soon the only ones left with him are Jiyong, Woosung, and Donghyuk. He shares a quick hug with Donghyuk before he vanishes out to join the others, and then he locks eyes with Jiyong, who nods at him and together they walk out onto the platform, Woosung behind them.  
  
They’re lit up in the bright explosions of pyrotechnics, and Jiwon stands in the middle of it all, arms held out, head looking up high, soaking in the adulation of the crowd. The opening lines of the song herald his arrival, and he waits for them, the way he always does: _shockwave, massive attack, atomic blast, son of a gun is back_ .  
  
Then he pulls off his hoodie and breaks into a run, feeling the elation of the crowd in the air that rushes past him, getting lost in the frenzied static charge. He feels hands reaching out to grab him, from both fans and the other members of his group, and he touches as many hands as he can, feels like each skin to skin contact is another volt of electricity sparking him up.  
  
The others follow him like a flock of ducklings, running behind him, going wherever he goes, and eventually he notices that Donghyuk is there at his side again, and he can hear his voice in his ear, belting out the words to his song, and Jiwon grins at his favourite lines, the lines that sum him up perfectly, the reason he picked this song out of all others— _shit for brains, born to kill_ —and they’re suddenly all a big mess of hopped up energy, body slamming their way around the chorus, screaming in fans’ faces.  
  
It might be his moment, but he’s elated that he gets to share it with all of them. His family. Donghyuk especially.  
  
The only ones not in the dog pile are Jiyong and Woosung, who are standing together on the interview platform, waiting for Jiwon to join them. He’s not insulted, because Jiyong has never been the type to display excitement so openly, not even for his own matches. Usually Woosung is more excitable, but he knows his engineer is probably a bundle of nerves tonight, because Jiwon’s outcome will also decide Woosung’s outcome.  
  
Since he’s got the headline fight he’s allowed to spend the whole four minutes of music jamming with his crew, interacting with the fans. But finally the music comes to an end and he leaves them behind, to line the path down again, and he joins Jiyong on the platform, who actually looks pleased. Jiwon’s not used to seeing anything remotely pleasant directed at him, and it feels good. Despite his confusing relationship with his boss, he’s hit with the urge to make Jiyong feel proud of him tonight. It has to be possible. He’ll prove to him that he’s worth it.  
  
Now all that’s left to do is wait. The lights go out again and he tenses, because he has no idea what kind of entrance this kid is going to have. Usually The Legion like to go big on pomp and ceremony, and he wonders for a brief second what kind of music he’s chosen for his entrance? Classical shit, like his grandfather used to walk down to? Or something harder like his dad uses? From the article he’d expect the classical shit, he’d expect him to be carried down on a damn litter, like the pompous asshole he comes off as.  
  
He doesn’t expect the barrage of heavy guitars that greets him, and he grins a little because he knows the song, an old Ministry classic. Okay. Maybe he’s not the pompous prince the article wrote him as being. Not with this song.  
  
He watches the spectacle begin, the lights still out, but he can see the shadows of Legion members running out from the back, lining the walkway on the other side of the pit opposite where he came from. Once they’re in place two members emerge from the back, carrying lit torches, and they walk down the row of positioned members, torches held aloft to light the tops of spears the other members hold, creating an arch of fire for him to walk under. Jiwon can’t help but feel annoyed.  
  
The moment every torch is lit more people emerge from the back, and Jiwon is surprised to see that Hanbin’s mother is actually here, involving herself in the production. She’s come to fights before, but usually she remains in a private box, watching with all the protection her political seat affords at a public event. He’s also surprised to see the girl with her, their daughter, the same one who’s cat Jiho killed earlier this week.  
  
But then some other guy walks out, a crop of bright blonde hair, holding a bow in his hands, and Jiwon watches, dumbfounded, as he knocks an arrow, lights the tip on fire, and then looses it right at he and Jiyong. The arrow embeds itself into the floor at their feet, and Jiwon feels enraged at the display.  
  
But then the archer moves to the side and that’s when he appears. Kim Hanbin, _Caligula,_ the son of the man who killed Jiwon’s own surrogate dad. Time stops at that moment for him, everything on pause as Jiwon watches him for the first time with his own eyes.  
  
Hanbin stands there, next to his father, and Jiwon is hit with a sudden intense feeling of inferiority. He feels like he’s watching some apex predator emerge from hibernation, coming out to make his first kill of the season. Everything turns back on then, and he can feel Hanbin’s eyes on him in the distance, and Hanbin quirks the tiniest little grin and Jiwon swallows nervously as the lyrics at that moment pound his brain— _you’ll never see me cause I’m always alone_ —and then Hanbin moves and begins his walk down.  
  
It’s a fleeting feeling and it passes as quickly as it had come on, leaving Jiwon enraged in its wake. He’s not inferior. Hanbin is not better than he is. He watches as Hanbin walks down towards him under the arch of flaming spears, arms outstretched to the sides, touching the hands of fans who scream for him already despite this being his first ever match.  
  
It’s bullshit. It stokes the fire of his rage, and as he gets closer Jiwon takes in his appearance and feels even angrier, and it’s such a stupid thing to feel mad about, but for some reason it’s all his brain can fixate on in the moment.  
  
Hanbin’s not wearing any shoes. He walks down to the pit barefoot. He’s not the only fighter to do it, but Jiwon hadn’t expected it. His father wears boots when he fights, and he’d expected Hanbin to mirror his father. But he doesn’t. He walks down barefoot, and now that Jiwon’s focusing on the specifics he sees that he’s barely wearing any clothing at all. Just tight shorts, like old UFC fighters used to wear. There’s no protection in his attire, none at all, and it makes Jiwon’s blood boil, makes him want to sit down and unlace his own boots. He doesn’t want Hanbin looking like he doesn’t take him seriously, like he’s not even the slightest bit afraid.  
  
He looks like some celebrity who’s coming down to interact with his adoring fans, and Jiwon can’t stand the sight of it. He wants to pick up the damn arrow at their feet and jam it through his fucking eye. He hates Hanbin already, on first glance alone.  
  
He can’t wait to smash the teeth out of his mouth.  
  
Hanbin strolls up to the platform, walking ahead of his father, and that sparks an intense feeling of jealousy. Jiwon has only been granted the right to walk beside Jiyong instead of behind him for the first time today, and Hanbin already gets to walk _in front_ of his father? It makes him even more determined to smash his skull in.  
  
They stand on opposite sides of the league owner Choi Dongwook, who’s got security guys next to him to break up anything that might happen prematurely. He calls them in for the customary pre-match interview.  
  
“What a headliner!” Dongwook yells to the crowd’s thunderous approval. “Stray Bullet, who’s spent the past two years being the fighter to beat, an insane record, multiple record holder!” He pauses to let the crowd cheer, and it brings a smile to Jiwon’s face. His fans are loyal. It’s a good feeling. “I can’t think of any other fighter worthy enough to meet the debut of the newest Legion general. Who wants to hear what they have to say to each other?”  
  
The crowd roars its approval and Dongwook offers the microphone to Jiwon first. He holds it in his right hand and stares into Hanbin’s eyes just as he starts talking. “I’ve been waiting for this for two fucking years!” he yells, angry eyes directed at Hanbin, “I’ve spent two years running this league, and you’ve spent two years hiding from me!” He pauses and hears the crowd cheering above him, he feels giddy from the excitement. “Your family is an example of everything that’s wrong with our society, and I’m going to crush the life out of you while they watch! I will rip every tooth out of your mouth, I will pluck your eyes right out of your head! They won’t just be cleaning your blood from the pit, they’ll be cleaning your fucking brains too!”  
  
He looks up at the crowd, elation running through his veins at the way they cheer for him. He’s going to give the people what they want. He can feel it in his very bones. Fuck that journalist, fuck his lies. Maybe when he’s done with Hanbin he’ll pay him a visit. Remind him why it’s unwise to fuck with The Death Brigade.  
  
Through it all Hanbin remains impassive, his face expressionless. Jiwon stops his grandstanding to look back at him, grinning at him. He gives the microphone back to Dongwook, and mouths at Hanbin _‘time to die, bitch’._ He wonders how Hanbin will react, wonders what he could possibly say back to counter Jiwon’s comments? The crowd went insane for him, they love him! That has to be messing with Hanbin’s head, doesn’t it? He has to be nervous.  
  
Dongwook offers the microphone to Hanbin. “That was a strongly worded threat. How does The Legion respond?”  
  
Hanbin takes the microphone and gives Jiwon a cursory glance over, eyes looking him from head to feet, before turning to Dongwook instead to give his comment.  
  
“I don’t talk to pigs,” Hanbin says calmly, with just a mere hint of disgust in his tone, “I just eat them.”  
  
Jiwon lunges at him, baring his teeth, incensed at the disrespect of Hanbin’s comment. Hanbin doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch, just slowly turns his head to look at him. They’re face to face, Jiwon’s turbulent rage meeting the impenetrable wall of Hanbin’s composure. The cameras eat it up, little drones circle around their heads, catching every angle of their rivalry. One of the security guys is in between them, pushing Jiwon back, while Hanbin stares at him, almost looking like _he’s_ the one who’s feeling insulted. Jiwon follows Jiyong over to their side of the platform, and he stares across the open expanse of the pit, glaring eyes on Hanbin, his words ricocheting around his skull like bullets.  
  
 _I don’t talk to pigs, I just eat them._  
  
“Jiwon, face me.”  
  
Jiyong’s command cuts through the rage and Jiwon does as he’s told, coming eye to eye with Jiyong, whose pupils are red but not in flames, which makes Jiwon angry. Jiyong should be livid with the way Hanbin just spoke to him!  
  
“Remember our talk,” Jiyong says to him, “you cannot underestimate him, so you need to focus. Direct your fury in a controlled manner, do not let his demeaning speech affect you. That is his intent, to rile you up now so you lose your focus.”  
  
Jiwon nods, even though all he wants to do is get in the pit and lunge at Hanbin, knock him down and rain blows right into his face. He’ll beat him until he’s unrecognizable.  
  
“Jiwon?” Jiyong says again, and this time the warning tone gets his full attention, and he scales himself back. Jiyong is right. Hanbin’s trying to throw him off.  
  
“His persona is built on his high society status, from _good breeding_ , and everyone expects his victory because of that. But now is your opportunity to show that blood is not the determining factor, that blood is the same no matter whose veins it flows through.”  
  
Jiwon thinks about the journalist again, remembers his insults and criticism, not just against him but against his group. Jiyong is right, again, and it’s Jiwon’s responsibility to prove them all wrong. He feels a brief moment of calming clarity settle over his shoulders like a weighted blanket, and he thinks it might be visible on his face because the look in Jiyong’s eyes is different. For the first time he looks at him with no trace of criticism.  
  
“Remember, Jiwon, _I chose you_ for this fight. I would not have done that if I did not believe that you would win it. I would not risk our reputation on the shoulders of an untested fighter. You have proven yourself and your worth over the past two years. Now is the time for you to prove me right. This is your final test. Destroy him.”  
  
The words bolster Jiwon’s spirit like nothing else possibly could. Maybe he’s been taking Jiyong’s criticism too personal, maybe he’s been inventing bad blood that never actually existed, something to pin his nerves on, to explain away things he didn’t want to face. Because Jiyong _did_ choose him for this fight, when he could have given it to more senior members, or even taken it himself. Instead he’s gifted it to Jiwon, and all this time Jiwon’s been building a case against his support. It’s time to cancel those thoughts and instead savour the gift he’s been given.  
  
Inspired by his sudden change of heart Jiwon kneels in front of Jiyong in an act of unasked for reverence. He doesn’t say anything, but Jiyong will know what he means by it. Maybe, if he wins the fight, this will be the tipping point between them. Maybe Jiyong has only been so harsh on him in order to build him up into the unstoppable machine he’s become. Maybe he thought Teddy had been too soft. Maybe Jiyong wants him to become a mirror of his own skills and achievements.  
  
Jiyong lays a hand against his skull and pats his head, just like the dog Kim Jinhwan had labelled him as. But that’s fine. Jiwon can be a dog, he’ll sink canine fangs into Hanbin’s throat and chew til the blood comes gushing out. He can already taste it.  
  
“Rise and fulfill your duty as Stray Bullet. Pierce his skin until his blood soaks through the arena and seeps into the very earth into which you will bury him. Plug his body with lead slugs, like your parents who were shot down in the street. Do this, and you will earn your place, no longer behind me, but at my side.”  
  
Jiwon looks up into Jiyong’s eyes at his words, transfixed on his voice, and licks his lips when he sees the fire in Jiyong’s eyes. But he knows for once the anger is not directed at him, but at the enemy.  
  
“I will have our revenge.” Jiwon replies, a promise spoken aloud.  
  
“For Teddy.” Jiyong replies, and it’s exactly what Jiwon needs to focus his fury.

* * *

  
“He is below you, as all others are below you. You bow before no one but me.”  
  
Hanbin can feel the pride in his father’s words, and he lets it seep into his bones, an extra protection from harm. “I fight in your name, and for the glory of The Legion.” Hanbin replies, standing back up.  
  
“No,” his father surprises him by saying, and he waits until Hanbin meets his gaze before continuing, “those below us fight for the glory of The Legion. You and I, as its head, we fight for our own glory, for our own personal gain.”  
  
Hanbin grins at the response, feels like it sets his very blood on fire. He stands on the summit, a mountaineer about to plant his flag and claim the land for himself. Stray Bullet is the bones of a man who came before him and perished on the mountainside before he could reach the top. Hanbin is here to fling his remains off the mountain, because he doesn’t even deserve to be buried in its earth.  
  
“For my glory, then, and for yours.” He and his father lean forward, clasping forearms and touching foreheads. He is ready for this fight, ready for victory. They straighten again and for the first time in his life, his father is the one who takes a step back, who bows to him before taking his leave. Hanbin watches as his father joins the rest of the family. He sits next to Junhoe, with Hanbyul on his other side, and his mother beside her. They are a united front, a _family,_ and they will emerge victorious. Hanbin returns his focus across the pit, sees that his opponent is watching him.  
  
Hanbin agrees with the formality of respect between fighters, and he always expected himself to bow before his first opponent. But he thinks about Hanbyul’s cat, and he thinks about two years ago, when his father halted the traction the Death Brigade had been on under their old leader. He needs to send the same message today.  
  
So he looks at Jiwon, at Stray Bullet, and he does not bow.  
  
Because he’s _not_ worth it, not even out of mockery.  
  
He jumps down into the pit, absorbing the shock and remaining in a low crouch, staring up at Jiwon. He’s not actually looking at him through his own eyes, though, but through the view of his biot, who is perched on the top of Yunhyeong’s laptop screen. His engineer is sitting in his area near the edge of the pit, the screen angled well enough that Hanbin can see the majority of the pit. There is a blind spot, of course, directly underneath Yunhyeong, where he’s currently standing. He’ll have to keep the fight on the other side.  
  
He can see Jiwon perfectly, pleased with the lighting and the details of the view. He watches as Jiwon jumps down to meet him, mimicking his stance. The stare is unbroken across the floor of the pit. They’ve both chosen to start the fight without weapons, in hand to hand combat.  
  
Without waiting for any kind of sign Hanbin bolts from his position, runs directly at Jiwon, who remains crouched and waiting, but Hanbin leaps over him instead of at him, watches his movements through the biot’s sight, sees Jiwon move when Hanbin exposes his back, walking right into the trap he’s set for him.  
  
Hanbin’s ready for Jiwon’s movement and he twists to reach beneath himself, catching Jiwon’s left arm, the arm he’s thrown out that Hanbin can’t rightly see with his own eyes, the fingers of his right hand tight around Jiwon’s wrist, and as he kicks off the wall he yanks the arm towards him and smashes his left elbow into Jiwon’s nose.  
  
Jiwon scrambles away from him, blood dripping from his nose already, backs himself against the wall to get a better visual on Hanbin.  
  
Hanbin stands where he is and grins at him, message sent.  
  
Jiwon glares back at him, angry that he’s let Hanbin draw first blood. He hadn’t opened the fight the way Jiwon had expected him to. Jiyong was right when he’d warned that they knew nothing about him. Jiwon had expected him to fight like his father, direct and confrontational with both feet on the ground.  
  
But then Hanbin had gone flying over him, flipping off the wall like some damn parkour runner. So he’s flashy. Fine. Jiwon can deal with flashy, now that he knows to expect it. He runs at Hanbin and slides at the last second, feet aiming for Hanbin’s leg. Of course he moves, but Jiwon still catches his foot with an outstretched hand and tugs on him, trying to pull him off balance. He reaches for Hanbin’s toes with his other hand, intent on snapping at least one of them.  
  
Before he can do that Hanbin makes use of his exceptionally good reflexes and manages to drop himself on top of Jiwon, knees digging into his sides at an attempt to gain a mount position.  
  
But Jiwon’s ready and he gets his arms around Hanbin’s torso, Hanbin’s left arm locked in between their bodies, but he missed his right arm. While Jiwon is busy trying to muscle their positions to his liking Hanbin pulls his right arm back as far as he can, fingers outstretched but quickly contracting into a fist as he smashes his hand into the side of Jiwon’s temple, at the corner of his left eye. He manages to hit him three times before Jiwon finally gives up the attempt at control and lets him go and they both scramble away from each other.  
  
Jiwon’s been hit in the head before, it’s nothing new, but his vision’s slightly blurred at the moment. Hopefully it’ll go away. If it doesn’t, well, Woosung’s monitoring his vitals. He can release any necessary drugs into his system if needed.  
  
He wipes at the blood coming out of his nose and gets to his feet, trying to ignore the off balance feeling he gets, like he’s trying to stand up on a boat driving through choppy waves. He pinches the fabric of his jeans between his fingers and concentrates on it, and a moment later he feels a little less askew.  
  
He moves forward and lunges at Hanbin, not content to sit back and wait for him to move. His fingers try to get a hold on Hanbin’s slick skin, and he ducks low to slide his arms around Hanbin’s legs, locking around the knees and twisting, trying to knock him down. It’s an unexpected move that usually works out for him, but he forgets that Hanbin’s been studying him for two years in preparation.  
  
Instead of trying to get his legs free Hanbin punches him in the back of the neck, and if Jiwon hadn’t invested time in building up his neck muscles the blow could have broken some of his vertebrae. He lets Hanbin go and rolls away but Hanbin follows this time, dropping down and driving his knee into Jiwon’s rib cage.  
  
It doesn’t hurt, though, nothing hurts, because Woosung has triggered a release of morphine straight to the M1 receptor, temporarily numbing Jiwon to feeling pain. Hanbin could break his arm and Jiwon wouldn’t feel a thing. He turns and spears Hanbin back onto the floor and smashes an elbow across his face, feels high off the hits as he drives a knee into Hanbin’s side.  
  
He’s not thinking clearly, his brain firing too quickly at the moment, and for a few seconds he’s certain he can hear his own heart beat in his ears and he punches Hanbin in time to it, like some kind of dance, and he has the weirdest sensation that his heart’s inflated inside his chest.  
  
He sees Hanbin laying prone underneath him, no struggle, and it feels like seeing the visual widens his ear canal so he can hear more, the screams above him sound louder, he can practically feel them on his skin. He stands and looks up into the crowd, lost in his moment.  
  
On the other side of the pit, Yunhyeong’s eyes aren’t on the fight but instead on his laptop screen, tracking Hanbin’s vital signs. He’s not exerted in the slightest, his heart rate steady, his pulse low, as though he were only resting. He’s got the biot’s visual open in another screen and that’s what he’s using to watch Hanbin, and he sees him lying prone, knowing that he’s simply lulling Jiwon into a false sense of security.  
  
There’s a spike in his heart rate as Hanbin suddenly moves, rolling out of the way as Jiwon takes a swing at him with a newly acquired crowbar. Yunhyeong watches the biot’s feed as Hanbin climbs up the side of the pit and springs backwards at Jiwon, catching him perfectly off guard with an elbow into the side of his head. He grins to himself because it’s the sort of move that’s impossible to time properly without seeing where the other person is, and Hanbin had his back to Jiwon the entire time.  
  
They’ve never discussed the biot project before because Hanbin is still the only test subject using one. He can’t wait to hear what sort of wild theories people come up with after seeing the footage, because it looks unreal. It looks staged, but of course everyone knows it can’t be. Not with this match up.  
  
Even though Hanbin’s fine, Yunhyeong sends a shot of epinephrine through his system, a boost of adrenaline because he knows Hanbin, and he knows that he’s about to do something really impressive right now. They’ve been working together for so long that Yunhyeong is able to anticipate his moves when he fights, knows when he likes to do things and when he likes to play possum.  
  
He actually looks away from his screen at just the moment that Hanbin climbs up to the top of the pit and dives off, like he’s on the side of a pool and Jiwon is the water. Jiwon is on his feet and swinging the steel crowbar at Hanbin, and any lesser man would get that crowbar right in the head with the time of his swing, but Hanbin reaches for the bar and wraps fingers around it, uses Jiwon’s own force of the swing to flip Jiwon up and over his back to land on the floor behind him. He wrestles the crowbar out of Jiwon’s hands and swings it into his left knee, and everyone can hear the crack of steel meeting bone.  
  
Yunhyeong looks back at his screen, pleased. The fight is going perfectly.  
  
Hanbin tosses the crowbar out of the pit and kneels down near the wall, his eyes on Jiwon, watching him like a predator, assessing weakness. He’s still bleeding freely from his nose, which looks like it might have broken at some point, and he’s grunting as he brings himself up into a kneeling position. He knows the blow he just hit must have done some damage to the knee, but Jiwon doesn’t seem to feel it. Probably got a shot of some kind of drug in his system. Everyone uses drug release systems these days, they make the fights last longer.  
  
Hanbin doesn’t plan on reaching for any weapons himself, wants to beat Jiwon with his own bare hands. He doesn’t mind using Jiwon’s weapons against him, though, won’t hesitate to do it in order to prove a point. No matter what he does, Hanbin will always turn it against him.  
  
He lets Jiwon get back up to his feet and delights in the look of outrage on his face. Jiwon clearly wasn’t expecting his style of fighting and is having trouble adapting to it. As skilled as he is, Hanbin has watched him enough to know that Jiwon is more of a scrapper, he loves to get in close and pummel his opponents, and that’s where he shines the brightest. It’s a style very similar to how his father fights, but Hanbin prefers to be more creative, prefers to be a little more acrobatic in his movements. He likes to be flashy, likes to think of himself not as a fighter but as a _physical artist._  
  
But just because he doesn’t like to throw punches toe to toe, that doesn’t mean that he can’t. He meets Jiwon in the centre of the pit and decides to test himself against Jiwon’s area of expertise. Just to prove to himself that he’s better.  
  
They get in close and Hanbin throws the first hit, catching him on the side of the jaw, but Jiwon eats it and throws his own punch, a straight jab that Hanbin takes on the cheek. He follows the force of the punch with his body’s movement, twists to the side to lessen the impact. He can see Jiwon moving to pummel him in the side through the biot’s vision and he twists his torso to protect his kidneys, flexing his abdominal muscles and eating the hits a few times before sneaking in a jab to Jiwon’s jaw. He blocks Jiwon’s next punches but lets him land a soft jab at the end, and just as Jiwon takes a breath in Hanbin snaps his right arm and hits him in the cheekbone with a sharp backfist. It momentarily blocks Jiwon’s ability to breathe and Hanbin takes advantage of the moment to drive his knee into Jiwon’s right side, just under the rib cage, aiming for the liver.  
  
Jiwon goes down immediately, sinking forward onto his knees, doubled over. Hanbin punches him in the cheekbone again, hoping to fracture his maxillary bone. After the hit he backs off and climbs up the side of the pit, eyes focused on the crowd above.  
  
He plays into their fervour, hears the screams of adulation rain down from above, all for him. This is exactly what he wanted, to look up from below and hear the spectators cheering for him. He gestures to them, arms out, soaking up their attention.  
  
But he sees Jiwon roll to his side and sit up, sees him quickly look around, taking stock of what’s available to him. He’s surprised to see him on his feet so quickly after the liver shot, wonders how many drugs he’s got pumping through his system. It’s good, though. He doesn’t want his victory to be too easy or too fast. He wants to enjoy his first fight, wants to savour every blow, both against him and against Jiwon.  
  
It’s worship to Mars, not that he really believes in the ancient Roman deity, but it’s a good focal point to rally his thoughts. He sees himself in a godlike status, sees himself as an object of worship for those in the seats above him. Maybe one day they’ll build temples in his name.  
  
Jiwon’s eyes settle on a large knife, his thoughts full of wanting to score Hanbin’s skin, wanting to see him dripping blood. He wipes at his nose again, a fresh coat of red on his hand. He grabs the knife and unsheathes it from its holder, clamping it between his teeth and dropping to the floor. He scurries across the pit, crouching below Hanbin, who’s still up on the wall, pandering to the crowd. Just as well for Jiwon. He has no qualms about stabbing someone in the back.  
  
He quickly scales the side of the pit next to Hanbin, his fingers tight around the chain link as he climbs, and he takes the knife in his hand. But just as he’s about to plunge the knife into Hanbin’s leg suddenly Hanbin does a standing backflip off the wall, landing on the floor beneath Jiwon and springing up on top of him, grabbing the back of his head and smashing it face first into the wall.  
  
Jiwon lets out a guttural scream as his broken nose is mashed up against the steel links and sends his elbow flying back, catching Hanbin in the face, making him lose his grip. Jiwon drops off the wall and pulls Hanbin down with him, twisting them so he gets the advantage, Hanbin falling on his front and Jiwon on top of him.  
  
He stabs down with the knife, aiming for Hanbin’s left arm and slicing across the skin, not deep enough to hit bone. Immediately a line of red appears on the top of his bicep, but it’s not enough for Jiwon, because the cut is really only a superficial wound that’s got more length than depth. He brings the knife down again but Hanbin bucks him off and kicks the back of Jiwon’s hand, sending the knife skittering across the floor.  
  
Jiwon gets to his knees and looks at him, and the wound is producing more blood now, the sight of it makes his mouth water. He wants to see Hanbin covered in it, wants to paint the walls with it. Jiwon looks over his shoulder and sees the shock spear he’d found earlier in the week. Since the techs had gotten their hands on it he knows they’ve upped the voltage. One shot and Hanbin will be in spasms on the ground.  
  
He reaches up and grabs the spear, yanking it from its holster. He keeps his eyes on Hanbin the whole time, who doesn’t move, but just watches him.  
  
Jiwon charges him, keeping a firm hold on the spear as he jabs it towards Hanbin, who jumps up out of the way, hanging onto the chain link covering the wall. Jiwon thrusts again and this time the spear connects, and for a split second Hanbin’s leg jerks, but then it stops, even though the current is still running.  
  
Hanbin smiles at him in a malevolent sort of way, because he’s got protection against this sort of thing. Yunhyeong’s created a type of series regulator that reads and regulates the electrical currents flowing through his body, specifically to protect against any sort of stun gun attack. It’s another one of his secret projects, something that Hanbin has been the guinea pig for in its testing.  
  
Jiwon can see the crackling of the current against Hanbin’s bare skin, knows that it works properly, and the fact that it doesn’t seem to be affecting Hanbin has essentially reversed the effects of the attack and has instead stunned him for a moment, his brain not able to compute why it’s not producing the desired effect. Hanbin should be on the floor, convulsing with a spot of burnt flesh by now.  
  
Hanbin takes advantage of Jiwon’s shock and drops down onto him, knocking him to the ground and pulling the spear out of his hands before jabbing it against Jiwon’s shoulder.  
  
Jiwon’s the one in convulsions now, though Hanbin doesn’t leave it for long. He doesn’t want to fry him. He just wants to prove a point again. It doesn’t matter what Jiwon does, doesn’t matter what kind of advantage he seeks for himself. Hanbin will always meet it head on and twist it to suit his own needs.  
  
He throws the spear aside and scrambles up the side of the pit above Jiwon’s prone form, counting the seconds in his head, knowing how long it’ll take before he comes out of the shock and is able to move. His left arm is coated in his own blood by now, and his fingers are a little slippery because of it. But he climbs up high enough to make eye contact with Jiyong, who’s sitting on his side, his face a mask of composure, but Hanbin can see his eyes crackling with fire from here. He grins at him, savours the anger.  
  
Through his biot vision he can see Jiwon roll over onto his front, exposing his back, and Hanbin jumps off the wall, crashing down into his back knee first, yet one more move that is surprising in its accuracy given his blind spot. Spectators will be confused about how he continues to hit these moves, and in his post-fight interview Hanbin will say that he is blessed with the sight afforded to him by his _third eye_ and Yunhyeong will bite his tongue to keep from blurting out about his biot project.  
  
Jiwon feels the hit immediately, not because it hurts (because he’s still not feeling any pain at all with the effects of the morphine shot) but instead he feels the implications based on the fact that he currently _can’t feel his legs._ One second he could feel his knee pressed against the floor and the next second—nothing. He’s still gasping for air from the near-electrocution, and for a fleeting second he realizes that this is it.  
  
He’s lost.  
  
Hanbin crouches above Jiwon, waiting for movement, but knowing that movement won’t come. If he’s landed his hit properly, then he’s just fractured several vertebrae in Jiwon’s spine.  
  
Jiwon doesn’t move, so Hanbin carefully moves to his side, anticipating movement in case Jiwon is faking it. He grabs the spear Jiwon had tried to use on him and pushes the non-charged wooden end against Jiwon’s body, rolling him over onto his back. Hanbin can see it in his eyes. He’s broken.  
  
He crouches down until can sit on Jiwon’s chest, and he puts his hands around Jiwon’s throat, applying slow pressure to his larynx. He knows he’s promised his father that he won’t kill him, though he can feel the desire coursing through his veins. It’s a powerful energy, the ability and desire and _permission_ to end someone’s life. Finally he understands how his father felt two years ago, when he’d sat down over Teddy’s prone form and plunged his hand into his chest, fingers squeezing around his heart.  
  
That had been a message. One that Jiyong has not heeded in taking over the group. _Know your place._ Hanbin can have Jiwon relay it to Jiyong for him.  
  
Even though the arena is roaring with noise Hanbin can barely hear anything over the sound of Jiwon suffocating. It’s the only thing he needs to hear, the only thing he wants to hear. He watches as Jiwon’s eyes seem to bulge outwards from asphyxiation, and that’s when he releases Jiwon from his death grip. He stands up and looks upwards, and Yunhyeong tosses something down to him, as discussed earlier.  
  
It’s a permanent black marker, and Hanbin crouches down over Jiwon again, uncapping it to leave a message right there on Jiwon’s chest, for everyone to see.  
  
 _know your place_  
  
He drops the marker and stands up, eyes up to the crowd and suddenly the noise is turned on and he can hear everything, can hear the screams of adulation. He’s won.  
  
But it’s not over. He has a further message to send.  
  
He climbs up the side of the pit to where his family is watching with pride-filled eyes, and Hanbin motions for Hanbyul to approach him, and she does, holding a box. Hanbin picks his sister up with his right arm, because he doesn’t want to get the blood of his left arm on her, before dropping back into the pit and leading her to where Jiwon is still laid out. A hush settles over the crowd, a collective intake of breath as they wait.  
  
Hanbin takes the box from his sister and smiles at her, laying a hand on her head and nodding at her.  
  
Hanbyul’s worn heavy boots for the occasion. She stands by Jiwon’s head, hard eyes glaring into his face through held-back tears. She won’t cry. She’s promised herself that much. No more tears. Only retribution for her fallen friend.  
  
She stomps a booted foot down into Jiwon’s face, further mangling his broken nose. She stomps a few more times, and the sight of fresh blood on his face soothes her rage. It’s what he deserves. It’s what they all deserve.  
  
Hanbin kneels down by her and pats her cheek. “That was good, Byul,” he says against her ear, and he reaches for the box as she stands by. He opens it and lying there against a cushion of velvet is Legate Lanius, Hanbyul’s dead cat.  
  
Hanbin takes the stiff corpse of the cat out, smiling eyes on Jiwon’s barely conscious ones. He grabs Jiwon’s jaw and pushes his mouth open, staring hard before stuffing the dead cat’s head into Jiwon’s mouth. Jiwon’s too weak to spit it out, his eyelids flutter and droop. Hanbin takes a lighter out of the box and holds it to the cat’s stiff tail until the corpse catches fire.  
  
He and Hanbyul stand by together, heads bowed, and make a salute to the fallen family member.  
  
He knows his father won’t be happy with him for this decision, but it’s always been his to make. The time for standing in shadows has ended, and as of now Hanbin’s decisions are his own to make, and he will make them based on nothing more than his own whims and desires. No one will stand in his way.  
  
Hanbin climbs up the side of the pit, Jiwon’s side, and again perches there, fathomless black eyes meeting Jiyong’s flaming ones. Hanbin holds the gaze long enough to make his point, before dropping back to the floor and picking Hanbyul up, climbing up to his side of the platform to join his family and receive their praise.  
  
He has made his debut, and has made his statement.  
  
Everyone will cower in his wake.

* * *

  
It’s six in the morning and Jiyong is still in his office, sitting behind his desk, booted feet up on the dark wood.  
  
He feels the same way he’d felt two years ago when they’d all returned to the compound after watching Teddy’s brutal death at the hands of Germanicus. The group had been in disarray, rage and sorrow combining into a seething froth, tempered only by their confusion. Jiyong alone had been the only one willing to do anything, and the first thing he’d done had been to come into Teddy’s office, which had been in a different building at the time, with a door that didn’t even lock.  
  
He’d sat behind Teddy’s desk, boots up, fingers clasped under his chin, and he’d stayed there for three hours, contemplating decisions. He’d always been at odds with Teddy over his designs for the group, had never been happy without having a firm direction and sense of forward movement. Teddy had been content to carry on with the status quo, always angling for victory but never angling to rise out of their thug status. He’d gone through everything in Teddy’s office, haphazard files about their past dealings and contacts, purchases and sales. He’d begun the slow task of re-organizing everything, of getting it all into a manageable state.  
  
Then he’d prepared a speech. It hadn’t been long, because he knew his audience. When everyone was up and about the following day Jiyong had assembled them together, told them that he was their leader now, took the mantle without asking. He told them that things would change for the better, and they had believed him, because they needed someone to follow.  
  
Things had changed for the better. Through his shrewd leadership he’d brought them back from the brink of self-implosion, had given them all a better sense of purpose. People liked having someone to follow, they liked knowing their place.  
  
And now he thought about hours earlier, about the message inscribed on Jiwon’s skin, the message that had really been meant for him, and not at all for Jiwon.  
  
 _know your place_  
  
A measure of censure from the rich elite, who recognize what he’s been doing, who know of his plans for reform within his community and strictly disapprove.  
  
But they recognize it, and that’s why they’re intent on holding him down. He belongs where they are, belongs in a better place with a better name and a better reputation. He’s too good for the gutter, too good for this.  
  
But blood counts for much, and his blood has always been tainted by the cold hand of poverty.  
  
He hadn’t wanted things to go this way. Hadn’t wanted to start a war. But war is going to come, and he won’t be the one left with nothing. Not this time. He’ll rally others to the cause, he’ll form an army of expendables in order to rewrite the system, in order to challenge for authority that should be his.  
  
It’s time for him to do what Teddy could not.  
  
Germanicus has to die, and it won’t even be in the pit. Jiyong is not willing to grant him that level of respect. He will gun him down in the street if he has to. But he will die, and his wife will die, and his son will taste the bitterness of defeat before even he too, eventually, will die.  
  
If The Legion wants to treat him like he’s some common thug, then he’ll attack them like a common thug. He has no problems getting his hands dirty, but his shoes are another matter.  
  
“Boss?” He’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of one of his guards, who stands at the door, looking apprehensive.  
  
Jiyong glares at him, annoyed with the interruption. “What?”  
  
“Doc’s got him stabilized, he’s gonna make a full recovery.”  
  
Jiyong doesn’t reply right away, and when he does his voice is laced with disinterest. “Why are you telling me something so unimportant?”  
  
The guard licks his lips nervously and looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry, but Doc asked me to tell you. Thought you’d want to know.”  
  
“Well I don’t,” Jiyong replies, “he lost, and then he couldn’t even manage to be granted the dignity of death in the pit. Instead he lives, and becomes my burden. I actually don’t recall telling our doctor to operate on him. It was not my intention for him to be saved.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to pass on the information.”  
  
Jiyong finds a bit of solace in watching the guard shiver before him, his fear palpable like a cloak around his shoulders, wet in the water and dragging him under. He’s saved from Jiyong’s potential further anger by another guard.  
  
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but there’s someone at the gate, asking for you. He says that he’s not expected but that you’ll want to see him.”  
  
Jiyong is intrigued by the statement. Given the results of the night, who on earth would possibly think that he would have any interest in seeing them so early in the morning? “What’s his name?” He asks, because despite it all, he is curious.  
  
“Dong Youngbae.”  
  
Jiyong’s eyes light up in pleasure. This is an unexpected turn of events.  
  
“Send him in. He’s an old friend.”  
  
The guard looks relieved and hurries away, and the first guard follows in his wake, keen to remove himself from Jiyong’s presence while he’s temporarily in an improved mood.  
  
If he wants to start a war, then he needs people on his team he can trust. He and Youngbae grew up together as orphans, had been together since birth. Youngbae had actually been brought into the group as well at first, but when they were thirteen he’d gotten himself caught by police during a robbery, and despite his young age he’d been taken off to a high security prison anyway, as a message.  
  
But if he’s back now, then Youngbae is exactly who he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research into trying to protect oneself against stun guns, and had to bullshit something from that research to the best of my ability since I couldn't find any information on the possibility of it. So if you read that part and went "that's not possible" well _science fiction_!! Emphasis on the fiction. ;)


	4. My New Consciousness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to drop a few inspirational songs for this chapter:
> 
> [The Becoming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCxz-d7jQwU) \- Nine Inch Nails (the chapter title comes from this song)  
> [Wish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuoFiIFkdAA) \- Nine Inch Nails (the video itself is a whole visual cue for the Death Brigade as a group)
> 
> Now on to a short 11,000 word chapter. ;)

Six hours ago he’d emerged victorious from the belly of the beast, standing triumphant in the bowels of the arena, after having sated the bloodlust of the crowd. He’d felt like a God among men, like one worthy of worship, the way he always knew he’d feel when his day came. He’d sent his message to the enemy, doling out punishment for daring to reach grubby fingers beyond their means. He’ll never forget the look in either of their eyes, Jiwon’s and Jiyong’s.  
  
Jiwon’s eyes had held the acceptance of death that only a broken man can show, there at the end of his days, when he knows he’s drawing his last breath. All defiance gone, all misplaced confidence put aside. He’d given up, and it had been a delectable thing to witness.   
  
Jiyong, however, had been the opposite. His eyes were alive with the fire and the fury, a raging inferno of optics and hatred, and they burned so bright that Hanbin had felt the heat against his skin. Jiyong will want his revenge, but they’ll make him wait.   
  
He’d held a brief interview with Jinhwan right after the match while he was still bloody, because appearances are everything, and he wasn’t about to give priority to a few mere scratches. It was nothing more than a few sound bytes and vague responses to questions, something to tide the public over the following morning. He trusts Jinhwan’s ability to embellish what needs embellishing. They have a follow up meeting tonight for a full mid-week interview, and he’s looking forward to it. Now that he’s got a clear head that’s not caught up in the euphoria of witnessing Jiwon’s death throes, he’s comfortable talking about everything else.   
  
He’s doing things differently from how his relatives have done them in the past, carving his own design into the family tree. Instead of sticking to straight lines, he wants his history written in elegant curves. He doesn’t want to be a replica. He wants to be his own entity, wants his name to adorn a new era.   
  
He’d spent an hour with his doctor after he’d finished with the interview, getting his cut arm tended to, being scanned for any internal damage. He knew there’d be nothing, knew it had been a waste of time, but they pay their doctors to do a thorough job, so he can’t fault them.   
  
He’s got stitches in his arm currently, a special request he’d made himself. His doctor had wanted to wrap the cut with something else, some kind of special bonding agent they’ve developed in the medical section. It would heal the cut faster and wouldn’t leave a scar.   
  
But he likes the look of the stitches, finds it pleasing to the eye. He’s still undecided about the scar, though. He wants to keep it as a memento of his first fight, but he also doesn’t want any of them to think that it’s necessarily worth remembering. But his doctor’s got advanced skin grafting techniques to eliminate scars, so if he doesn’t end up liking the look of it later, he can have it removed.   
  
He’d foregone any further treatment, though, didn’t even go for an ice bath to soothe his bruises. He wanted to wake up the following morning and feel everything, wanted to bask in the minor aches while knowing how much worse Jiwon would be feeling. So he’d left the medical wing on the 20th floor of their building just nearing two in the morning, heading back to his suite. But he’d been too hyped up to lie down, his brain still spitting rapid fire imagery at him. So instead of fighting with himself he’d decided to sit on his balcony, eyes on the fluorescent glow of the city at night. His city.   
  
He’s been out here for just over three hours, legs stretched out on a chaise longue, his favourite blanket covering him against the chill October air. The blanket is made from the pelt of an enormous Kodiak bear, lined with fleece. It had been a gift from his trainer, meant to be used primarily during meditation, the heavy weight of the pelt meant to focus his thoughts. He’s never felt more worthy of wearing the skin than he does now, he feels like he’s truly earned the power. He rubs fingers over the coarse hair, follows one of the arms until he gets to the paw, placing it in his lap as he runs fingers over the claws. He keeps them sharpened, and he pricks his finger on one of them, to test the edge, and he smiles at the well of red on his finger.   
  
He lets his mind wander as he lies back, flitting over a whole spectrum of thoughts. He recalls the fight itself, remembers the feeling of each hit he’d taken, remembers the exhilaration of each hit he’d landed. Better than either had been the peculiar weightless sensation of the blind jumps, moves he’d watched through the eyes of the biot alone. He thinks about Hanbyul, about how that one moment is going to change everything in her life. The fitting final moments of Legate Lanius’ physical existence. As he’d told her when he’d explained what he was going to do, _‘they’ll write stories about him now, so the world will never forget him.’_   
  
He’d seen the change in her eyes, had seen the hatred in her actions. It was personal for her, and now that he’d opened the door he was going to have to teach her how to make it impersonal, because the moment you let your emotions guide you is when you become most vulnerable.   
  
The sun is beginning to rise on the horizon, he watches as the sky begins to brighten, the slow creep of the sun as it chases away the darkness. He still doesn’t feel tired, like the shot of adrenaline Yunhyeong had given him during the fight never quite wore off. His attention is drawn suddenly to the unexpected slide of his balcony door and he turns his head to greet the intruder, but smiles when he sees who it is. Hanbyul stands at the door, dressed in cat pyjamas, clearly wide awake despite the early morning hour.   
  
Hanbin lifts up the bear skin and pats the cushion next to him, and she gratefully squeezes in next to him, settling under his arm. He kisses the top of her head and looks back out at the sunrise.   
  
“What are you doing up so early?” He asks, even though he’s sure that he knows.   
  
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “I’ve been awake ever since we got back.”   
  
“So have I,” he says, wondering at the cause of her insomnia.   
  
“I thought you’d be tired after fighting,” she replies, laying her head against his chest.   
  
“Me, tired? Come on, Byul, Gods never sleep,” he says teasingly, and he can feel her grin.   
  
“Oh, are you a God? Am I supposed to pray to you now?” She teases back.   
  
“You will if you know what’s good for you,” he answers, pinching her cheek until she pries his fingers off. She doesn’t answer, though, and he can feel the shift in her demeanour immediately. She does it every time she’s upset about something—pretends to be okay until she’s sure that he’s able to give her the attention she wants. Then she lets it spill out.   
  
“Do I really have to move out?” She asks, her voice nearly a whimper. He’s known this conversation has been coming, but it’s still painful.   
  
“Yes, you know how it is. You can’t stay with me anymore.” Technically she should already be gone, but since she’s too young to live by herself they’ve had to wait and make alternate arrangements with another family member. One of his cousins is coming to live with her.   
  
“Is it because I’m a girl?” She asks, like she’s grasping at straws. “Could I stay with you if I was a boy?”   
  
“Why would you think that?” He asks, even though he knows why, but he’s not above chiding her for foolish questions. “Gender has nothing to do with anything, you know that. When your grandfather made his debut, I couldn’t stay with him either, and I was their son. Your great grandparents moved in to raise me instead. That’s just how we do things.”   
  
Hanbyul sighs out loud, the noise of a girl resigned to doing something she doesn’t want to do. “I don’t want to live with Jisoo,” she grumbles, and he can’t help but grin about it.   
  
“Why not? You barely know her, she’s not bad. Give her a chance.” He’s met his cousin only a handful of times since they were children. She’s a year older than him and has been living on Jeju Island for the past nine years since her father retired from fighting. They get along well.   
  
“But what do I do at night?” She asks, and he can feel how embarrassed she is for asking. It’s a good sign, at least. “What if I have a nightmare? I don’t want to go to her.”   
  
“I’m sure she’ll understand if you do,” Hanbin replies, even though he knows that she won’t. She’ll be polite but curt at best, maybe mocking and derisive, or cold and harsh at worst. He doesn’t think Jisoo will outright mock her for it, but maybe it would be better if she did.   
  
“She wouldn’t make me feel better though,” Hanbyul argues, “not like you do.”   
  
Hanbin knows this is partially his fault for coddling her. But if he has one weakness in life it’s his sister. “No, she probably won’t. But you know what you need to do then, don’t you?” He reaches out, lightly taking hold of her chin and pulling her face around towards him.   
  
“What?” She asks, her voice quivering in embarrassment still.   
  
He looks her in the eye first, makes sure she’s really listening. This is a long time coming, something he should have started saying to her some time ago. “You need to stop having nightmares.” He stares at her until she gets what he’s not saying out loud. _You need to grow up, you need to learn how to fight your own battles. I can’t protect you forever._   
  
“Why if I can’t? I don’t try to have them, they just happen. And I can’t make them go away.” She pouts at him but then seems to think better of it, schooling her expression into something less childish.   
  
It’s an improvement. “You faced the demon last night, didn’t you? I brought you into the pit, and you stood over him and stomped his face in, didn’t you? And you felt good about it. You conquered the demon, Byul, and you’ll conquer the rest of them.”   
  
She sighs out loud and he lets her go, and she lays her head back against his chest. “I hope I can. I want you to be proud of me.”   
  
“I am, little cub,” he replies, using an old nickname he hasn’t called her in some time. He can tell she’s smiling. “You have my blood flowing through your veins, don’t you? Mine, and mom and dad’s. We’re the strongest people alive, Byul. You’ll grow up strong too.”   
  
“I hope so,” she replies, and already her voice sounds more settled, more confident. Maybe he should get her a bear pelt too, get her to visualize herself in a strong animal’s body.   
  
“You know if you’re really struggling, I’m just down the hall. All you have to do is come and knock on my door.” A knock isn’t a guarantee that he’ll answer, though. He hopes it won’t have to come to that.   
  
“Okay.” She looks up at him and smiles, and he kisses her forehead again. The sun is fully up now, the official start of a new day, which means that it’s time to stop lounging around.   
  
“Let’s go get dressed and go eat. We can probably catch mom before she leaves for work.”   
  
“Okay!” She climbs out from under the blanket and runs back inside, energized at the thought of a breakfast together. He folds the bear pelt blanket in half and lays it over the back of the chair before following her inside and heading for his room.   
  
He’s meeting his father mid-morning to begin the process of picking a name for Junhoe, so he dresses comfortable, in black joggers and a grey hoodie. He waits for Hanbyul at the door, and together they head for the family dining room. As expected their mother is sitting down at the table, sipping a cup of tea and reading something on her phone. She looks up when she hears them enter the room.   
  
“Good morning, my favourite children,” she greets them with a smile.   
  
“We’re your only children!” Hanbyul replies with a smirk as she slides into the booth next to her, kneeling to give her a kiss on the cheek.   
  
“That you know of,” she teases back, and Hanbin grins as he sits on her other side.   
  
“Writing your own scandalous headlines now?” He asks, and she winks at him.   
  
“You know I like to control my own narrative,” she replies, “less work for my PR team.”   
  
“So generous of you,” he teases, “it’s a good example, though.”   
  
“Indeed, I see it’s one that you’ve quite taken to heart,” she says, calculating eyes on him, the sort of gaze that he can never tell if it’s meant in admiration or reproach. “You’re making me proud.”   
  
Admiration wins out for today. “Well, I strive to be an equal representation of the both of you,” he replies, and she grins back at him and sips her tea, and the chef comes out to take their orders.   
  
Losing sleep is worth mornings like this.   
  


* * *

  
Hanbin meets his father four hours later outside his parents’ suite, leaning against the wall when his father emerges from the doorway, noting with amusement that he doesn’t quite look as well rested as usual.   
  
“Have you only just woken up?” He asks his father incredulously, teasing him for his later start to the day.  
  
“It happens when you get old,” Jeong-ju replies, “recovery takes longer.”   
  
“You’re ancient,” he says with a grin, “like a broken down motor.”   
  
“Maybe so, but I venture that I could still kick your ass,” his father teases, and puts an arm around his shoulders.   
  
Hanbin leans into the unexpected embrace as they walk. “Did you see me last night? You wouldn’t have a chance in hell,” he teases, “besides, I’ve worshipped you for 20 years, watched all your fights, I’m your biggest fan. So I know all your tells.”   
  
Jeong-ju grins. “The student becomes the master?”   
  
“Something like that.”   
  
They reach their destination and Hanbin feels overcome with excitement at finally being admitted inside. It’s nothing more than a small room filled with some books on their genealogy. It’s not really that exciting in the grand scheme of things, but family history is very important to him. He’s proud of their long and storied past, is elated to hear tales about things that he wasn’t even alive for. The library is not open to the entire family. Only the ruling pair are admitted inside, and then hand down the keys whenever they step away from their duty. Hanbin’s been dying to see the inside of it for years. Today is finally the day.   
  
The private library is a cozy little room, dark red walls with dark wood accents, floor to ceiling bookshelves against the walls. The entire history of the family is in this room, along with research material used for name selections. There’s a fire place along one wall, and before it sit two comfortable armchairs. He walks closer to one of the shelves, inspecting the spines of the books, while his father approaches a small cabinet.   
  
He reads over titles and hears the soft pop of a wine bottle being uncorked, and he walks over to stand next to his father, watching as he pours out two glasses of red wine.   
  
“A gift from our French emissary on the year of your birth,” Jeong-ju explains, passing him a glass, “he had it specially crafted for the occasion, one bottle only.”   
  
“Late to rise and early to drink,” Hanbin says teasingly, before sniffing the wine.   
  
“Keeps an old man healthy, and helps him to think.” He replies back with a grin.   
  
“That’s not an actual saying,” Hanbin retorts, and he can smell a particularly strong scent of something he knows but can’t quite place.   
  
“I’ve changed it to suit my needs,” he answers, “a practice you’re quite familiar with.”   
  
“True.” Hanbin replies before they clink their glasses together and take sips at the same time. It’s an interesting flavour, and he looks at his father for further elaboration. There’s a metallic tang to it, and he wonders if that’s simply the case with older wines or if there’s something added to this one.   
  
“Do you taste it?” His father asks him, and Hanbin takes another small sip to confirm the note is still there.   
  
“The metallic note?” He asks, and his father nods.   
  
“Do you know what it is?”   
  
Hanbin shakes his head. “I certainly hope you’re going to tell me.”   
  
Jeong-ju grins and carries his glass over to the table that sits in between their chairs, laying the glass down before approaching the bookshelves and taking two slim tomes off the shelf. “Tiger blood.”   
  
Hanbin looks down at the glass, not entirely surprised. It makes sense. “Do you drink that much tiger blood to recognize it by taste after one sip?” He asks teasingly, accepting the book his father holds out to him.   
  
“Some put cream in their coffee, I add animal blood to mine,” his father jokingly replies and together they sit down. “This book is a list of all available names, that correspond to tomes on the wall to read up on those personalities to aid in their selection. You should take a few minutes to read about your namesake. I chose it for more than one reason.”   
  
Hanbin watches him but his father doesn’t look at him, he just starts reading through his book. So he flips to the appropriate page, finds the numbered tome that contains the history of his name, and retrieves it from the shelf. He sees what his father wants him to see in the brief overview.   
  
_Caligula, the son of popular Roman general Germanicus_   
  
He feels a little tight in the chest when he sees it. As far back as they’ve been using Roman names, none of the others have ever used father-son combinations. This is his father’s way of claiming him in the league, of announcing _Yes, this is my son._ It’s not something they do in their family history. Loyalty is to the whole family, those alive and dead, and no relationship is prioritized over another. But this is his father’s way of breaking tradition, of showing his fatherly pride and parental loyalty. This might just be the most touching thing he’s ever done.   
  
“Thank you,” he says softly, because his father will know what he’s talking about.   
  
“There will never be enough words to describe how proud I am that you are my son,” Jeong-ju says, “I wanted to honor that lineage in a way we usually don’t, because I want you to know how I feel.”   
  
The explanation hits him harder than he expected, and it suddenly makes him take a leap through his childhood memories of growing up and watching his father from afar, pining for attention his father was not expected to give him. The practice serves its purpose, of course, and it does strengthen their bonds over time. But these are the words he longed for during his time as a boy, and he relishes them now.   
  
“You’re getting soft in your old age,” he replies teasingly, reaching for his glass to take another sip and draw strength from the tiger’s blood.   
  
“I picked your name the day you were born, hoping you would grow into it well,” Jeong-ju replies, “I’ve always been soft when it comes to you. I just managed to hide it well.”   
  
Hanbin isn’t quite sure what to make of his father’s unexpected confession, but he knows that he’ll keep the memory of it forever in the forefront of his thoughts. They don’t say anything else after that, content to sit in silence together and read, searching for the appropriate name for Junhoe. His father refills their glasses once, and it isn’t until two hours later that they finally speak.   
  
“I think we’re going to have to get creative with this,” his father suddenly states, closing the book in his lap and looking at Hanbin.   
  
“Nothing I’ve seen sounds like it would fit him,” Hanbin replies, “it’s all too serious. I feel like he needs something with extra flair.”   
  
“Precisely that. I know he expects a typical Roman name, but I don’t think it’s what he’d really like to be known as. He wants a name to match his dramatic personality.”   
  
Hanbin’s about to reply but his eyes fall on the next page in his book, Julius Caesar’s page, and he grins because he’s found it. “I’ve found it. Literally just turned the page and there it is, shining like a beacon.”   
  
“Oh?” His father regards him curiously.   
  
Hanbin meets his gaze. “We’re going to name him after Caesar, but instead of his actual name, we’ll use one of his nicknames.”   
  
“I’m listening,” Jeong-ju prompts when he doesn’t come out with it right away, and Hanbin continues to stare at him with a twinkle in his eye, too amused at his decision.   
  
“The Divine Julius.”   
  
His father actually laughs, and that sets Hanbin off as well.   
  
“The Divine Julius,” his father says with a tone of mirth, “that might just be the best name anyone in our family history has ever been given.”   
  
“He’s going to love it,” Hanbin replies, “I can already hear him saying it out loud in my head.”   
  
“I can see him in my mind, arms outstretched, looking up into the crowd of adoring fans,” Jeong-ju relays, “I’m going to want to slap the stupid grin off his face but I’ll refrain.”   
  
It’s Hanbin’s turn to laugh at the comment, but he can see it too, Junhoe’s dramatic grandstanding before his first fight, always one toe over the line, and he can picture the look of irritation on his father’s face at the display. But Hanbin knows that he allows it because it reminds everyone of how different they are, his two sons. Hanbin makes him proud, and Junhoe keeps them both entertained.   
  


* * *

  
Jinhwan’s been sitting in the lounge for the past fifteen minutes, relaxing on the plush black couch and becoming attuned to the deep silence of the upper floor. He doesn’t think anyone else is up here, even his escort left back down the elevator. He wonders if it’s a test of some kind, if they’re watching him. Leave the journalist unattended and see if he goes snooping around.   
  
But he’s not here to fuck around and risk what he’s got. He’s here to do his job and keep on The Legion’s good side. He’s not willing to put Jinwoo’s life at risk. Besides, if he keeps Hanbin happy he’s sure he’ll get secrets of his own to keep eventually. He doesn’t mind the waiting right now. The couch is exceptionally comfortable and the silence lets him think, at least.   
  
Watching the match had been intense and highly intriguing at times. Hanbin had done things that he shouldn’t have been able to do, had seemed a little too good. To make a fighter as formidable as Stray Bullet look like an amateur was no easy feat, but yet he’d done it.   
  
He just wanted to know _how._ There had to be something there, had to be some secret. But he couldn’t ask outright, at least not yet. Maybe he’d work up to it if Hanbin was in a good mood.   
  
Suddenly he hears an approaching hum that he can’t place, but seconds later when the elevator doors ding open he knows that it had been the elevator itself. He remains in the lounge but he can’t hear anything, no sound of anyone approaching. But then suddenly Hanbin’s standing by the doorway, cloaked in nothing more than tight fitting shorts and sweat, and Jinhwan can’t help but stare at the sight of him. He’s leaner than Jiwon, doesn’t have the bulk in his arms, but his chest is more defined, and that scripted tattoo stands out so beautiful against his glistening skin.   
  
“Sorry for running a little late,” Hanbin says by way of greeting, “I was working out, lost track of the time. Come with me.”   
  
Jinhwan is certain that Hanbin didn’t lose track of the time. He’s confident that he was being tested, and he’s glad he didn’t give in to his usual habits of snooping. He gets up to follow Hanbin back down the hall, past the elevators. He’s surprised to see him working out already, not even twenty four hours after his victory. He hadn’t escaped unscathed, after all. His left bicep is bandaged where Jiwon had scored his skin, and he’s got bruising all along his right side.   
  
He follows Hanbin into his private suite, curious if they’re going to do the interview here. He’s excited to see what Hanbin’s living quarters look like, because you can glean a lot about a person based on how they live.   
  
“Leave yours shoes at the door, please,” Hanbin instructs before walking into the living room area, and Jinhwan quickly pulls off his black boots and leaves them as instructed. He traces Hanbin’s steps into the living room and looks around with interested eyes. The whole place is blanketed in thick plush carpet, the kind your toes sink into. The walls are a soft brown, with accents of dark brown, punctuated with spots of bright orange and red. It’s not at all what he had expected.   
  
“Excuse me while I take a quick shower,” Hanbin tells him when he appears, “feel free to look around while you wait. I have nothing to hide.” He punctuates the statement by removing his shorts and standing before Jinhwan fully naked, no trace of embarrassment.   
  
And if Hanbin is so intent on showing, well, Jinhwan is going to look. He lets his eyes trail downward over Hanbin’s body, not bothering to mask his interest. Hanbin is clearly aware of it. It’s been a while since Jinhwan’s been with anyone, his line of work makes it too difficult to keep up with appointments that don’t result in a story of some kind. He wonders now what Hanbin’s intentions are. Is he just making a point? Or is he offering something?   
  
When he doesn’t avert his eyes Hanbin comes closer, until he’s standing right in front of him. Jinhwan isn’t sure what to expect, doesn’t know what game Hanbin’s in the midst of playing. But he can feel the tension in the air, a palpable thing, the only thing that stands between them. It’s arousing in a way, even though nothing is really happening. Nothing _should_ be happening, because this is a job.   
  
Would he even be allowed to refuse, though, if Hanbin asked? Would it count as a strike against him? Would it make Hanbin more likely to trust him, or less likely?   
  
“It’s available to you, Jinhwan, if you’re interested. But for now I have to shower, so as I said, feel free to look around.” And with that statement Hanbin leaves, and Jinhwan takes a rattled breath, shaken after the bizarrely stimulating moment. Hanbin seems to understand him well already. Is he interested?   
  
If he wasn’t at the beginning, he definitely is now, all due to the presentation. But he takes the offered opportunity to look around, sure that Hanbin is not monitoring him on some secret camera right now. He’d have left him in the lounge if he hadn’t trusted him unsupervised.   
  
The first room he looks into is Hanbin’s bedroom. To his surprise the walls are painted black, and there are heavy black drapes that are available to cover the windows. The view through the windows is a fully unobstructed view of the city, including the river. The room itself is sparsely decorated, with only the bed and two ornate standing candelabras in the corners of the room. The bed is large, a king size, and Jinhwan sits down on top of the black comforter, and within seconds he lays down, because it might just be the most comfortable bed he’s ever been on.   
  
He stands back up and opens the door to the closet, everything immaculate and tidy and well organized. Hanbin has some amazing pieces in his collection, jackets that Jinhwan would possibly consider stealing, if Hanbin were just some random man he’d never have to see again.   
  
He leaves the temptation of the clothes behind and heads down to the other end of the hall, past the living room again and past the bathroom where he can hear the shower still running. There’s a door at the end of the hall that bears a small plaque that reads _Hanbyul’s Room._ Jinhwan looks at it in surprise.  Does his sister actually live with him? He touches the doorknob, curious to see, but decides against it. Hanbin has invited him to look around, but his sister hasn’t. He heads back out to the living room, briefly glancing at the kitchen but deciding against investigating it.   
  
There’s an interesting portrait on the wall, a piece painted on black velvet inside an ornate wrought iron frame. It’s a tiger superimposed over Hanbin, like some kind of spirit portrait. It’s a gorgeous piece, the artistry stands out. He’s sure he recognizes the style, but art has never been something he’s paid a great deal of attention to. But he’s seen pieces like it before, from some famous artist in the city.   
  
He looks over the books that line the shelves, intrigued at the different varieties. There are poetry books, photography books, history books, but most surprising of all is the large compendium of flowers. He wonders if they’re just for show or if Hanbin actually reads them. It’s something he’s definitely going to include in his article either way.   
  
He hears the shower stop and knows that he’ll be joined soon, so he continues reading the spines of the books, tries to understand more about Hanbin through his choices. He’s sure that even the selection of titles is meant to say something about him. He can’t really figure out what that something is, beyond the message that Hanbin is a man of many varied interests.   
  
A few minutes later he can feel the change in energy that means that he’s no longer alone. He didn’t hear him enter the room because of the carpet, and he can’t help but stiffen when he feels a hand touch the small of his back.   
  
“Find anything interesting?” Hanbin asks, voice right at his ear.   
  
Jinhwan has to fight off the shiver. “Many things,” he replies, “I’m most intrigued about the flower compendium though.”   
  
Hanbin grins and pulls it out, flips to a specific page and hands it back to Jinhwan. “My personal favourite.”   
  
Jinhwan looks at the page, sees a flower of different colours, whites and purples, on a thick stalk. _Hollyhock._ He doesn’t ask why Hanbin likes it, he just reads.   
  
“Come, sit down while you read,” Hanbin calls to him, patting the leather couch. Jinhwan carries the book over and sits at the other end and continues to read. At the end of the page he thinks he’s found Hanbin’s preferred meaning.   
  
_A third meaning for Hollyhock is tied to ambition because of the overall strength of the plant to grow in an array of conditions. You often see them lining gates and fences because some believe that their statuesque appearances and tall lengths reflect the impression of protection and safety._   
  
“Sounds like a lovely flower,” Jinhwan replies after he finishes reading, closing the book and laying it on the coffee table. “I noticed you have some plants around here, what type are they?”   
  
“Sage plants,” Hanbin replies, regarding Jinhwan with a look of casual amusement, “the sage plant represents wisdom and immortality.”   
  
Jinhwan has to fight back a snicker. It’s incredibly pompous, in his opinion, but completely in character from what he knows of Hanbin so far. It’s slightly endearing. “Well then it suits you and The Legion perfectly, doesn’t it?”   
  
“I’m glad you agree,” Hanbin replies. “Before we get started, would you like a drink? Or food? I could have something brought up if you’d like.”   
  
Jinhwan had been hoping he’d get a meal again, and he’s not at all above declining the act of generosity. “That would be appreciated, I haven’t eaten since breakfast actually, had to finish a piece off for tomorrow’s print before our appointment.”   
  
“Do you enjoy seafood? I could have our chef prepare some sushi, if that suits you? With a nice bottle of wine?” Jinhwan agrees to the offer and Hanbin types something into his phone before laying it down on the table and looking back at Jinhwan.   
  
“Where would you like to begin while we wait?”   
  
Jinhwan figures he’ll leave the match details until after they’ve eaten, hoping to get something extra out of Hanbin if he’s had a few glasses of wine. “I actually noticed, and hope you don’t mind my asking, that your sister has a room here.” Hanbin smiles at the question and doesn’t appear bothered by it at all.   
  
“Yes, she lives with me for the time being. She’ll be moving into her own suite soon, pending the arrival of a cousin who will be staying with her.”   
  
Jinhwan’s surprised by the answer. “Why is she with you and not with your parents?”   
  
“We believe it’s important for our children to be raised by the whole family, and not just the parents,” Hanbin answers, “it might surprise you to know that I was raised primarily by my grandparents, and when Hanbyul was born, I because her primary caregiver once she was old enough to not require my mother.”   
  
“You would have been a child yourself, wouldn’t you?” Jinhwan can’t help but think of Jinwoo, who’d been forced into something of a parental role too early.   
  
“I was a responsible child,” Hanbin replied cheekily. “Don’t think it was anything neglectful, my parents were always around, and we were always supervised,” he motions to a camera in the corner of the room, and Jinhwan’s surprised he hadn’t noticed it himself right away. “But when you’re responsible for the life of another person, especially one as dependent as a child, it teaches you to respect life. It’s important to respect something that you have the capacity to end.”   
  
The sentiment is a chilling one to Jinhwan, but it’s one that the public will eat up. “So one would assume then that you’re very close with your sister.”   
  
“One would assume correctly,” Hanbin answers, “I love my sister very much, I never viewed her as a burden, even as a child. She made my days brighter, you could even say. But kids have to grow up, and part of growing up is learning your way on your own. She’s very dependent on me, which I don’t think is very surprising. I wasn’t much older than her when I stopped living with my grandparents. It forces you to begin thinking for yourself. I think in the span of a year she’ll be a completely different girl from who she is today.”   
  
“Will she still be the type of girl willing to stomp her boot into someone’s face?” Jinhwan asks, and he hopes Hanbin doesn’t take it the wrong way.   
  
“She’d better be,” Hanbin replies with a smile, “otherwise my cousin will be in for some trouble of her own.”   
  


* * *

 

>   
> _all pain disappears, it’s the nature of my circuitry_ _  
> _ _drowns out all i hear, no escape from this, my new consciousness_ _  
> _ _the me that you know he used to have feelings_ _  
> _ _but the blood has stopped pumping, he is left to decay_ _  
> _ _the me that you know is now made up of wires_ _  
> _ _and even when i’m right with you_ _  
> _ _i’m so far away_ _  
> _                the becoming - nine inch nails 

He’s been in and out of consciousness in the days since the fight, vague thoughts drifting along, like the ebb and flow of a slow placid lake disturbed by nothing more than a paddle boat. He feels like his brain is broken. He feels like he’s forgotten something. Maybe he’s forgotten himself. He tries to remember what he’d been doing the last time he could remember being awake and aware, but a thick fog clouds his brain, doesn’t give him access to any of that.  
  
His entire body is in pain, or at least as much of it as he can feel. He tries to move his arms but it feels like they’ve been strapped down, he can feel something biting into his wrists, and it hurts. Or at least he thinks it does. But something feels off, something doesn’t feel right, and he can’t place it.  Maybe he’s just not in control of his body?   
  
Or maybe…   
  
Maybe Woosung is granting him his wish. Maybe he’s in the process of moving his brain into a robot body. Or maybe he’s in the body already, but not fully hooked up. That’s why he can’t feel his legs. The circuitry hasn’t made it that far yet, the wires haven’t been attached.   
  
But his arms hurt, and if they were robot arms, if he were a cyborg, wouldn’t he not feel pain at all? Wouldn’t there be nothing? Maybe his brain is hooked up to the legs, and it’s his arms that aren’t yet attached.   
  
Maybe it’s some kind of phantom pain. Maybe his brain can’t make sense of it yet, so it’s resorting to old trusted explanations. Because it’ll be easier for his brain to accept that his arms are strapped down, and that’s why he can’t move them, instead of accepting that he has no arms at all.   
  
That has to be it.   
  
He wants to touch his face. He can feel something on the left side of it, it feels like some kind of growth. Like something is wrong with his face, it’s swollen up. Or maybe they’re turning his skin into metal. Maybe he isn’t being transferred into a robot body—maybe he’s _becoming_ a robot. Maybe his skin is hardening, turning to leather first and then to metal. He can see himself from above, can see the glisten of molten silver as it settles over his skin. They’re coating him in armour, giving him a hard impenetrable shell, so he’ll become the ultimate machine. The ultimate weapon.   
  
It’s a comforting thought, and he hopes Woosung has remembered his request for electric shock fingers. Because he wants to grab him by the throat, wants to wrap fingers around his neck and fry his fingerprints into the skin.   
  
_Who?_   
  
He tries to remember the name of his enemy, but his thoughts are distracted by the distant sound of an opening door. He can hear the clicking approach him, a slow tap of heel to ball, someone drawing out the length of their strides. But sound is still muffled, like he’s got cotton stuffed in his ears. Maybe they’ve just been hooked up, maybe these are the first sounds he’s hearing with his robot ears. Soon he’ll be able to hear things from miles away, if they tune him properly. He’ll hear _everything._   
  
The sound stops and even though his eyes are closed he can still sense the darkness, like the shadow that falls over him is a tangible thing that presses down on him, pushes him against the mattress.  He tries to open his eyes but his vision is blurry.   
  
Of course it is. He probably hasn’t opened them before. He’s seeing for the first time with superior vision. His brain needs to adjust before it can make sense of what he’s seeing.   
  
“Do you remember what I said to you, when I gifted you that match?”   
  
_No._ The voice… he recognizes it but doesn’t, is both familiar with the question but has no comprehension of it.   
  
“I told you, if you lose, you’d better hope he kills you. But he didn’t kill you, and now I’m saddled with you, a dead weight tied to my sinking ship.”   
  
_No._ That doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He still can’t make out the man’s features, still stares at him with straining eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, and his voice comes out in a croak. “I’m not dead weight.”   
  
“Technically speaking you’re right. You’re not dead. But you are a burden.”   
  
_No._ He’s so much more than that. “I’m just being hooked up,” he says, barely choking out the words.   
  
“Hooked up, are you? To what are you being hooked up to, Jiwon?” The voice sounds closer to his ear.   
  
“My body,” he replies, “my body, coated in metal.”   
  
“How sad are you, that you can’t even accept what you’ve done? You can’t accept your failure. Even now you seek an excuse, you seek some way to shift the focus.”   
  
_No._ “Woosung,” he starts to say, and his voice gets weaker as he speaks, “is making me,” he has to stop to lick his lips, they feel cracked, “into a robot.”   
  
“You are no robot, Kim Jiwon,” the voice says back to him, “you’re just a useless scrap of junk metal. You came to us from the trash, and now it’s time you are returned home to it. Don’t you agree?”   
  
He wants to shake his head, wants to dispute what’s being said, but he can’t physically bring himself to do any of it. “No,” is all he can croak out.   
  
“You were humiliated in the pit, he left you with a broken spine. It’s being healed, because our doctor just can’t leave well enough alone. Went behind my back, spent resources fixing you, testing theories and new technology, when I would have ended your life myself. Did so much work on you to ensure that I wouldn’t just pull the plug right away. You’ll walk again, Jiwon, and when the time is right, you’ll walk right into my blade, taking your own life.”   
  
_No, it’s all lies, why are you telling me lies?_ He can’t say anything, can’t speak, wonders if his batteries are running low? Maybe he needs to be plugged in. Maybe he needs to be charged.   
  
“My only joy now will be watching the others turn on you. I gave you a chance, and you ruined it. You did that, all on your own. Expect no sympathy from anyone. You are a weak link, unworthy of your place among us. Unworthy of your name. You are no longer Stray Bullet, you are just Jiwon, and Jiwon is nothing more than a husk, an empty shell. You are a waste of my resources.”   
  
He sees a flash of something, some ill gotten memory, sees two men walking side by side, hears the words and speaks them now. “You said I could walk beside you,” he says, voice raspy and pained.   
  
“I said that, yes, but in truth I never believed you would win. I expected you to lose, and I was right.”   
  
He hears the click-click-click of the departing man, the sound and the news rattles inside his brain, makes him want to scream, makes him want to wail into the darkness. _It’s not true it’s not true it’s not true it’s not true it’s not true it’s not true it’s not—_   
  
He sees images: flaming spears, no shoes, eyes blacker than the darkest night, he sees the knife plunge down, missing its target, he sees a cat, stiff as a board, an obscene necklace, and he can taste it, can taste the matted fur and ash and decay and death.   
  
He tastes death on his tongue and he coughs, wants it out of his system before he chokes on it. But it remains in his nose, in his throat, he feels itchy from the cat hair, feels like his entire body needs to be scrubbed raw to get it off, can feel it sticking everywhere.   
  
He’s wheezing, trying to catch his breath, but he can’t suck enough air in, feels like he’s in a constant state of suffocation. He wants to thrash around, wants to move, but his body doesn’t respond. He wants to kick his legs and flail his arms and knock his head from side to side and yell but he can’t do any of it. He can’t feel.   
  
He wants to scream but his mouth is full of dead cat, burning dead cat, the heat smolders his lips, it sucks the oxygen out from his body, and he chokes on the ash, tries to cough it out of his mouth but instead all he can do is suck more of it down his throat, until his lungs are full of decay, black with soot from the fire.   
  
A boot stomps into his face repeatedly until he’s certain his nose has fallen off. Why won’t anyone help him? Why has he been left here, to suffer the abuse? He’s alone, unable to move, unable to protect himself.   
  
He’s alone.   
  
Someone touches his forehead.   
  
“You’re going to be fine, let me get this sedative into you.”   
  
“No,” he wheezes through the ash and the fur because he can’t breathe and that’s what he needs help with right now, “no.”   
  
But then he starts to feel heavy, starts to feel his heart slow down, is sure he’s stopped breathing altogether, but he feels fine. In fact he feels _better_ when he stops breathing.   
  
He must actually be a robot then. Because robots don’t need to breathe. They don’t have hearts, or lungs, don’t have blood-filled veins. Since he doesn’t need any of that now, he must be a robot.   
  
He falls asleep with a smile on his face.   
  


* * *

  
He doesn’t fully regain his memories until Donghyuk visits him. Maybe the drugs are finally wearing off, or maybe it’s his personal connection to him, the memories he’s forged with him, of their life together before joining the group. Maybe those weren’t buried. Maybe he’s finally waking up out of the dreams, he’s regaining focus. Donghyuk’s visit is like having a bucket of ice water thrown over his head after he’s been baking in the sun.   
  
It takes him a few minutes to figure it out, though. When he first sees him, when he first _sees,_ he thinks he might be hallucinating. Donghyuk sits at his side and stares at him, like he’s waiting for him to speak first. But he can’t. He feels like maybe...He’s forgotten how.   
  
Donghyuk gets up to leave and Jiwon finally forces more than just air out of his mouth. “Wait,” is what he says, and Donghyuk stops in his tracks, listening. “Are you real?” He asks, because he’s afraid it’s just an illusion.   
  
Donghyuk spins around and hovers over his face seconds later. “Am I what?” he asks, and his voice doesn’t sound like Donghyuk. He sounds angry.   
  
Jiwon stretches his fingers out, because he hates feeling trapped like this. His finger grazes Donghyuk’s arm, and the skin to skin contact wakes him up just a bit more. “Donghyuk,” he says out loud, like he’s suddenly just remembered everything about him.   
  
But Donghyuk looks at him with nothing but revulsion in his eyes. “How dare you,” he hisses, leaning over so he’s right in Jiwon’s face, “you had the chance we all wanted, every single one of us, and you threw it away!”   
  
Jiwon stares at him in confusion, even though he knows what he’s talking about. He just doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to own up to the loss. Wants to cling to fantasy he’s fabricated in his head, wants to ask him how he looks with his metallic skin. He scratches his finger against his arm again. “Donghyuk—”   
  
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Donghyuk yells, slapping his hand away, “don’t you dare fucking touch me!”   
  
Jiwon stares at him without saying anything else, confusion creasing his brow, overwhelmed emotions collected in the tears that pool at the corners of his eyes. _Not Donghyuk. Please, not Donghyuk._   
  
“I trusted you, Jiwon, I fucking trusted you to win!” Donghyuk punches the wall beside his bed, knuckles cracking against the concrete. “Every single one of us trusted you! You were supposed to avenge Teddy, you were supposed to be the one who brought us back up! You were supposed to kill him!”   
  
If only he were a robot, he could probably shut off his hearing when he wanted to. He could just turn it off and let people yell at him, let them get it out of their systems, and he wouldn’t have to hear a single word of it. He could sit in blissful silence while they succumb to frustrated rage.   
  
“Instead of doing what you were supposed to do, you embarrassed us! It was god damn mockery of a fight, you looked like a fucking amateur! You looked like you didn’t even belong in the same league as him! How the fuck could you do that to us?!” Donghyuk pounds his fists into the pillow on either side of Jiwon’s head, crowds into his face so there’s no escape. “How the fuck could you do that to _me?!”_   
  
How can he possibly respond? How is he supposed to offer words of comfort, the way he used to when they were together on the streets? He looked after Donghyuk for years, just the two of them, he took care of everything, he did everything he could to look after him, and for what? He gave up his childhood to try and keep Donghyuk’s intact. Doesn’t that count for anything?   
  
“You’re a fucking disgrace,” Donghyuk says to him, and even though his eyes are angry, there’s a hint of sadness behind the rage, and even though his tone is furious, there’s a hitch in his breath. Jiwon remembers every time Donghyuk has ever cried, and every time always starts like this. It starts in anger, and ends with Jiwon holding him and promising him that he’ll make everything right.   
  
But he can’t do that this time.   
  
“Why couldn’t you have died, at least?” Donghyuk asks, his voice going soft, “why did he let you live? Why would he do that to you? Why would he do that to us?”   
  
Jiwon stretches his finger out again, scratches at his arm, but he can’t say anything. Donghyuk doesn’t slap his hand away this time, instead he takes Jiwon’s fingers in his own and squeezes them, tears threatening to spill. But a few seconds later everything has passed, and Donghyuk stares at him with hatred again, and lets go of his hand and leaves the room.   
  
Jiwon watches him leave and he feels like he’s back in the pit, paralyzed underneath Hanbin, death creeping down his throat.   
  
And that’s when he feels the actual pain. His throat feels like it’s swollen, it physically hurts to swallow, and he’s suddenly reeling in the flashback imagery. Hanbin kneeling over him, fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. He remembers looking into his eyes and seeing nothing—no trace of emotion, no sympathy, no joy, _no life._ They were the calculated eyes of someone with every intention of killing him, but he’d stopped.   
  
Why had he stopped?   
  
He can barely breathe now, he’s terrified to close his eyes, but also terrified to keep them open. He remembers the lack of feeling in his legs, remembers how all the noise had seemed to die in the face of Hanbin’s cruel stare. Like he was a void, a black hole, sucking everything inside of him, leaving nothing for Jiwon to cling to.   
  
He doesn’t realize he’s screaming, not until the doctor’s there in front of him, holding his arms down.   
  
Wait—he can move his arms. They’re not strapped down anymore!   
  
He sits up and shoves the doctor away from him and looks down at his legs, holds his breath while he focuses. Because he thinks he can feel them, but he’s not sure. Maybe it’s a ghost sensation. A phantom pain?   
  
Before he can test the theory he feels his eyelids drooping and he passes out.   
  


* * *

 

>   
> _this is the first day of my last days_ _  
> _ _i built it up now i take it apart climbed up real high now fall down real far_ _  
> _ _no need for me to stay the last thing left_ _  
> _ _i just threw it away_ _  
> _ _put my faith in god and my trust in you now_ _  
> _ _there’s nothing more fucked up i could do_ _  
> _                wish - nine inch nails   
>   
> 

He wakes up the following day and the fog is gone entirely. He remembers everything that happened with uncomfortable clarity, and feels terrified to start the rest of his life after his loss. He wishes he could just go back to sleep and never wake up again. He’d give anything for a quick death.  
  
“Good morning Jiwon,” a voice greets him, and he grudgingly opens his eyes to see the face of Kim Byunghoon, their resident doctor. “How are you feeling today?”   
  
“Like I shouldn’t be alive,” he replies, and it still hurts to talk.   
  
“Well for that I won’t apologize,” Byunghoon replies, “this whole thing might be terrible for you, but it actually gave me the opportunity I needed to test out some new products I’ve been working on.”   
  
Jiwon glares at him, even though his left eye kind of hurts. In fact, the left side of his face still feels weird.   
  
“Do me a favour and see if you can move your legs,” Byunghoon asks, and Jiwon wishes he had the energy to spit in his face. He remembers having no sensation, no feeling, he’s not about to remind himself of just how useless he is now—   
  
Except that he can actually flex his foot. He looks from the doctor to the end of the bed, watching as his foot bobs up and down under the sheet. He slides both feet up the mattress, his breath catching in his throat as his knees bend up, and he wants to scream in exhilaration when he can feel the joints cracking from a week of disuse.   
  
Byunghoon lets out a self-satisfied grunt. “Excellent. As expected, you’ve regained full use of your extremities after partial paralysis at the end of the match. You’ll be feeling quite a bit of pain for a while, but you should be back to normal within a few weeks at most. However, I need you to do your part,” with that the doctor grabs a tablet from his desk and hands it to Jiwon. “I’ve created a specific workout regimen for you to follow, _no deviations!”_ Byunghoon says sharply. “You are my first patient for this liquid bone armour, as I’ve taken to calling it in its non-scientific name.”   
  
Jiwon looks at him in curiosity. “What is it?”   
  
Byunghoon waves the question off. “Don’t ask, you’re not smart enough to understand. All you need to know is that without it, you would still be paralyzed. I spent countless hours repairing the damage to your spinal column, and it’s being held together by my compound. I’ll be needing to check on you every day, so you’ll need to do your exercises and log your work. This is very important.”   
  
Jiwon nods, only half listening. He wants to get up and find Donghyuk. He remembers his visit, remembers the angry words, remembers the way Donghyuk wrote him off. Jiwon doesn’t blame him, though. Because he’d thought he was paralyzed, he’d thought he’d be a useless burden. But he’s not! He’s going to make a full recovery. He won’t need to be looked after, won’t be a burden on anyone. He’ll be able to pull his weight.   
  
“Jiwon,” Byunghoon calls for his attention and waits until he has it, “I don’t think I need to tell you to keep your head down. Don’t aggravate the others. You lost your fight, and you know what happens to those who lose important matches and don’t die.”   
  
He knows. It doesn’t happen often, but he’d partaken in the last one a year and a half ago. One of their senior fighters had lost a match to a relative newcomer, embarrassed in the pit but left alive.   
  
They’d all taken turns beating him to death when they’d returned to camp, before burning his body in the night.   
  
“Even if it weren’t for my intervention, I don’t believe Jiyong would go to those lengths with you,” Byunghoon says.   
  
“He would,” Jiwon replies sullenly, “he hates me. He’d probably save the killing hit for himself.”   
  
“No, but that’s not important for now. Nothing will happen to you, because you are my patient and you are necessary for my study. Therefore you are under my protection. No one will harm you, physically. But do not aggravate them.”   
  
Under a fucking doctor’s protection! He stiffens, feels furious at the thought. He doesn’t need anyone’s protection. He never has.   
  
“If you’re feeling up to it, you’re free to leave. I’ve put reminders for your appointments into the calendar, mind you don’t make me go looking for you. This is important work, Jiwon. One day I hope you’ll be proud of your contribution to the medical world.” The doctor stands up and leaves, and Jiwon barely keeps from throwing the tablet at him.   
  
He has more important things to do right now, like finding Donghyuk. He needs to smooth things over, needs to show him that he’s not someone to give up on. He gets dressed in clothes the doctor has left for him, but feels itchy and in need of a shower. So he leaves the small medical clinic and stands outside for a moment, face turned up to the sun.   
  
It feels _good_ to be alive again, after wallowing in misery and fabricated realities. Maybe everything would be better if he really had been in the process of being turned into a robot, but still. Better to be alive with full control of his body than half-paralyzed and stuck in a fantasy. He makes his way to the dormitory building, looking around but not seeing anyone. He’s usually out of the compound at this hour of the day, if the position of the sun overhead is any indication. Maybe it’s always this quiet.   
  
He heads for the showers, stripping down and staring at himself in the mirror while he waits for the water to get hot. He’s got some nasty bruises on his sides, remembers the punches and knees he took. He remembers every hit, even though he didn’t even feel half of them.   
  
But the second he finally looks at his face in the mirror he has to look away. The left side of his face is a blotted mess, bruised and swollen, like the doctor had only bothered about his internal injuries and had left his external ones untreated.   
  
He gingerly touches his cheek and hisses, no so much at the pain, but at how it feels. Like it’s broken. His cheek just feels _broken._ And his eye… He’s got red in the corner of his eye, blood? Is that what it is? Is his eye bleeding?   
  
He goes for his shower and tries to talk himself down. He’s fine. Whatever happened to his face happened, and now that he’s up and about, he can get the doctor to fix his face. Because really, what’s a bit of cosmetic damage when his fucking _spine_ was broken? It’s not a big deal. A broken cheekbone won’t kill him.   
  
He stands underneath the hot spray for as long as he can stand, and when he leans against the wall of the shower and closes his eyes he feels calm.   
  
Until he suddenly gets hit with the taste of the cat in his mouth, and he opens his eyes in a fit of panic and spins around, backing against the wall like someone’s there to attack him.   
  
But no one is there. He’s alone, he’s fine.   
  
He just needs some sleep, is all. His brain’s still worn out, that’s the only reason he’s seeing those images. Because it’s not like he’s actually afraid of them, or anything. It happened, he survived it, no big deal. He’s just tired and confused.   
  
He runs the water cold again and it feels like it wakes his brain back up, like maybe it got lost in the fog from the hot water. He stands under the icy stream for as long as he can, before turning it off and grabbing a towel. He dries himself off without looking in the mirror again, gets dressed and runs a comb through his hair before messing it back up with his fingers.   
  
He leaves the shower room and heads for his shared room, hoping that maybe Donghyuk is just taking a mid-afternoon nap. He just wants to find him, wants to tell him that he’s himself, that he’s okay, that he’ll be the strongest person here again soon, after he goes through the doctor’s bullshit testing phase.   
  
He opens the door to the room quickly, ready for whoever is in there, but he stops in his tracks, doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe.   
  
His bed is stripped, there isn’t even a mattress on his bunk, no pillows, nothing. He enters the room and heads to the closet, certain his stuff will be there, but again there’s nothing. No trace of him. There aren’t even any of his hoodies in Donghyuk’s section. There’s no trace of him in the room.   
  
He leaves the building then, stands outside the front door looking for answers in the dirt. He sees them sitting together on the patio a little ways away, sees the five of them together, drinking and talking, and he walks over to them, confident at first that it’s just a mix up, certain his stuff was just moved somewhere while he was still paralyzed.   
  
But as he draws closer he sees their expressions, sees the way they look at him. Only Donghyuk refuses to look up, instead keeps his attention on the bottle of beer in his hands. Doesn’t react when Jiho calls to him.   
  
“And so the cripple can walk again,” Jiho greets, a look of disdain on his face.   
  
“I’m not a cripple,” Jiwon retorts.   
  
“You should be dead,” Jiho replies, arms crossed over his chest, “we were all hoping you’d die in surgery, but you couldn’t even manage that.”   
  
The words actually hurt. This was his group. His closest friends, the guys he lived with and trained with. His brothers, all five of them.   
  
“If you’re looking for your shit, it’s in the dumpster, where you belong.” Jiho tells him, before taking a sip of his beer.   
  
“The fuck did you throw my stuff out for?!” Jiwon erupts, tempted to hop the patio fence and attack Jiho.   
  
“We didn’t want any trace of you in the room, you’re not worth the memories.”   
  
“Isn’t it garbage collection day today? Better go grab your stuff if you want to save it,” Woojin says, to laughs from the others.   
  
Jiho smiles at him, but it’s an expression devoid of friendship, devoid of compassion. It reminds him of the way Hanbin had smiled at him at the end of things, malevolent and derogatory. “Set your mattress up outside and sleep with the dogs, if they’ll let you.” The rest of them laugh, all of them except for Donghyuk, who still refuses to look at him.   
  
Jiwon wants to fight them all, wants to grab whatever weapon he can get his hands on and bash their skulls in. How dare they turn on him?! After everything they’ve been through together, and they turn on him over one loss?   
  
But he knows if he attacks one they’ll all gang up on him, and he considers it for a minute. Maybe they’d kill him. Maybe he’d get the easy way out. But maybe they wouldn’t, maybe they’d beat him just enough, so he winds up back under the doctor’s care.   
  
So he retreats, he turns his back and takes hurried steps towards the garbage area, and sure enough, there’s his mattress, leaning up against the side of the building. There are his pillows, covered in dirt. There are bags of clothes, his shoes, everything he ever owned, on the ground and in the dumpster.   
  
He feels hollow as he sets about retrieving it all. Part of his brain screams at him not to do it. Things can be replaced. It’s not worth the hit to his ego to take his stuff back out of the garbage, where it’s been sitting for the past week. Half of his stuff reeks, a scent reminiscent of rotting food mixed with blood and sweat and dog shit.   
  
He feels like he’s in a daze as he does exactly what Jiho told him to do. He drags his mattress next to the compound wall, finds a shady spot that’ll be covered from the elements in case it rains. He stacks bags of his stuff around him, builds a little wall of bagged clothing and shoes, and by the time he’s finished he’s starving, but the mere thought of eating food with everyone watching him has him shaking.   
  
Everyone will be like Jiho. Everyone will be distant, they’ll be hateful and angry, and he’s in no position to ask for better. So instead he stays on his mattress and watches as the sun sets behind the buildings, and even though he’s only been awake for a few hours he feels exhausted already, the physical toil of building himself a little spot in the dirt, coupled with the emotional toil of being disowned by his closest brothers has him completely drained.   
  
He falls asleep out there to the electric hum of the compound’s generators, falls asleep to the nighttime baying of dogs, and to the screams of the people he used to call his family.   
  
He falls asleep, and no one comes to check on him. No one comes.


	5. Smothered Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're creeping ever closer to the beginning of the actual meat of the story! I'm not sure at this point if the main plot will reveal itself next chapter or the chapter after, but it'll be one of those two. Just letting you know now. ;)

> _ seems the light at the end of the tunnel was a fire  
> now i'm choking on the smoke in my lungs, i'm so tired  
>                                     _ "Stunner" Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip

  
He dreams of a different outcome, dreams of a different reality, one in which he is the victor and the hero, where he is worshipped and praised, ascendance into some modern God. He has replaced Jiyong at the head and he sits in the office now, only it’s not really an office anymore. The walls have been knocked down and in place of a fancy office chair he sits on a throne forged out of robotic components. It gleams the precious silver of molten steel, and the pieces are fashioned into arms and legs, hands and feet. Some might see it as grotesque but to Jiwon it’s beautiful, and in his mind he sits atop all of the bodies he has been responsible for destroying. It would be arrogant to forget his opponents, so he remembers them on his throne. Hanbin’s face is carved into the back of it, and glass replicas of his eyeballs have been inserted into the steel.   
  
He sits in view of the whole compound and watches as they go about their daily routines. Jiyong and Jiho are on rotating shifts watching the front gate, to teach them both a lesson in humility. Night is approaching and they stock the bonfire, the flames growing higher, reaching up into the sky. He watches as the smoke curls, watches as tendrils of ash dance in the orange glow, twisting their shape, taking form. Suddenly he feels a heavy weight in his lap and he looks down. There sits a cat.   
  
Everything is suspended for a few seconds, both he and the cat, their eyes meet and hold and suddenly he’s paralyzed, can’t move, can only watch as the cat sits up and puts paws against his chest, pushes its head against his lips, like it’s trying to climb inside his mouth.   
  
He screams, but the guttural sound is swallowed by the night, and no one hears him.   
  
He’s stuck in his chair, the cat’s head breaching his mouth now, and down below everyone in the compound turn their heads to look up at him, to watch him, and suddenly the only thing he can see is Jiyong’s face, even though he’s all the way at the front gate. Jiyong turns to stare at him and despite being too far away to be heard his voice is right there in Jiwon’s ear.   
  
_ “You deserve this.” _   
  
He wakes up with the acute sensation of a hot piece of metal being jammed into his lower back, can swear he can feel the steel searing his skin. He lifts his head up from his pillow, blinking eyes tearing up against the cold morning air. His body jerks into involuntary shivers, even though he feels warm under his blankets. He tries to sit up but the pain is too intense, so instead he curls into a ball, mind focused on his back, already forgetting about the dream.   
  
It hadn’t felt this bad yesterday. He’d walked out of the medical building with no issue, he’d felt perfectly fine. A slight twinge, lacking only the tiniest bit of strength. Had he aggravated the injury when he’d collected his things out of the trash? Had he just slept poorly?   
  
He grits his teeth and barely keeps from groaning out loud. It’ll pass, he’s sure of it. He just has to lie still, has to focus his thoughts on something else so he’s not thinking about the pain. He straightens his legs out and bites the inside of his cheek to keep his scream from getting out. He lays on his stomach and touches the small of his back with his right hand, where the pain is the absolute worst, and he starts to shake all over again.   
  
One breath in, one breath out, that’s all he tries to think about. Breathe. Don’t think about anything else, just concentrate on the air around you, keep breathing, you’ll be fine as long as you keep breathing. Don’t think about your back, don’t think about the others, don’t think about your failure, don’t think about your dream, don’t think about the cat—   
  
He feels cat hair on his tongue, feels like his entire mouth is stuffed full of thick fur, and he brings a hand up to his face, wiping his lips, pulling at his tongue, but nothing comes away. The feeling is still there, he can taste it, feels like he’s going to gag on it, and it’s not just in his mouth anymore but it’s in his throat, clogging his airway so he can’t breathe.   
  
He can’t breathe.    
  
He starts to cough, feels like he’s choking, can’t stop gasping for breath, like he’s hyperventilating. What if he chokes to death out here on the ground, surrounded by his own garbage, and no one finds him until the doctor comes looking for him? What if all he finds is a corpse?   
  
He tries to push himself up, manages to get onto his side, tries to get onto his knees, but the pain is too intense. The hot steel is back against his skin, scalding its brand into his flesh, and it hurts so bad he wants to cry, but he can’t even draw breath to scream. No one is there, no one is around to help him, and he’s going to die alone.   
  
Suddenly he’s knocked over onto his back and he feels something hot against his skin, feels something rough and wet licking his face, and it takes him a few moments to realize that it’s one of the dogs.   
  
They keep eight pit bulls in the compound, two as champion dog fighters, and the other six for the image. They bark a lot, but they’re surprisingly affectionate with people. He’s never really been a dog person, though. He’s always preferred cats.   
  
The dog is licking incessantly at his mouth and Jiwon can’t do anything other than lie there in terror. Is the dog going to smother him? Will it eat him after he dies? Will the doctor come by looking for him, only the find the dog, cracking open his bones to get to the marrow?   
  
But he’s not smothered. In fact, after a minute of licking, he realizes that he can breathe again, that he no longer feels like his mouth is full of cat fur. He takes a deep breath, despite the pain in his back, and revels in something as simple as filling his lungs with air. The dog stops licking once he’s breathing and instead lies down across his chest, his heavy weight keeping Jiwon pinned.   
  
The pain gets overwhelming again and he can feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He needs the damn doctor.   
  
“Get off me,” he says to the dog, trying to push it away. But the animal stubbornly refuses, dropping its head against his chest. “Get the fuck off me,” he repeats, and the more he tries to push the dog, the more it hurts his back.   
  
Great. So he won’t choke to death, instead he’ll just be smothered by some stupid fucking dog. What a fitting end to his misery. But eventually the dog perks up, head cocked to the side like it’s listening for some noise that Jiwon can’t quite pick up. That seems to be precisely what happens. The dog jumps up but keeps its paws firmly on his chest, the nails digging painfully against his skin, before bolting away and leaving Jiwon alone again, the excruciating pain his only companion.   
  
Eventually he rolls onto his stomach and struggles up to his hands and knees. He’s trembling at the exertion, can barely keep himself up. He crawls off his mattress, his palms pressing into the hard packed dirt, taking slow shuffling movements in the direction of the medical building. But it’s all the way across the compound, he’s going to have to crawl across the wide expanse of dirt to get there. He looks up at the dark sky, the sun isn’t yet peeking at them between any of the buildings. At least that means it’s still very early. But the compound will wake up soon. What’s going to happen if someone sees him before he gets to the doctor? What if they all stand and watch him crawling on the ground, like some broken invalid? What if Jiho finds him?   
  
He lingers at the side of the building, wonders if he should just go back to his mattress, maybe the exertion of this morning might be enough to let him fall back to sleep. Or he could just stay there, huddled under his blanket, make the doctor come and find him when he doesn’t show up for his appointment. He’s sure he’d understand why he didn’t come once Jiwon explains to him how much pain he’s in.   
  
He decides to try standing up first, just to see if maybe his legs want to support him now. No matter how much it hurts, he has to make it to his feet. He can’t crawl around like some animal. He’s better than that.   
  
His fingers grip the brick of the building he’s next to, and he closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. He tries to pull himself up against the wall, tries to use his arms to pull his weight up, but his knees give out on him and he sinks down again with a hard thud against the ground. He leans forward, his head touching the brick, white flashes of pain blinding him. He can’t stand up, no matter how determined he is. Even crawling makes him feel like passing out, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that he can’t get to his feet.   
  
He needs pain meds. He needs whatever he had yesterday to numb the pain in his back. Because that must have been why he could walk around so easily. He must have been on something. The doctor had probably just forgotten to give him pills to take with him. That’s the only thing that makes sense.   
  
So he starts his slow crawl across the yard, drags himself over the hard earth. If he keeps delaying than the likelihood of someone finding him will only increase, and he can’t put himself through the humiliation of someone finding him like this. He refuses. He focuses on the way the small stones in the dirt press painfully into his palms, because it’s better to focus on that then the pain in his back. But every time he moves a knee he feels it pinch his nerve, and he bites his cheek so hard he can taste blood on his tongue, but he’d rather chew his own flesh than let anyone hear him cry out in pain.   
  
He’s acutely aware of just how vulnerable he is like this, and he hasn’t felt vulnerable in such a long time. He hates the feeling, despises himself all over again for losing. He’s painted his own target on his back, and he has the sudden sensation that every pair of eyes in the compound are trained on him right at this instant. Everyone is watching him struggle. Everyone is laughing at his downfall, happy it was him and not them. That’s just how they are. When you fall, no one falls with you. The weak are left behind, a sacrifice to the strong who remain.   
  
He’s halfway across the yard when the sensation of being watched actually feels real, and he can sense company, someone’s there with him. He prays it’s not one of his former roommates, maybe it’s just the doctor? Maybe the front gate shift is changing over, and it’s some low rookie who won’t dare to look him in the face?   
  
“Good morning, cripple.”   
  
But it’s Jiho. Jiwon doesn’t answer him, just keeps struggling forward, eyes on the medical building looming in the distance. Of all the people, why did it have to be Jiho?   
  
“I fucking said  _ good morning,” _ Jiho repeats, before shoving his foot against Jiwon’s back and pushing him off his knees so he lands hard on the dirt. “Suddenly you can’t fucking talk anymore?”   
  
Jiwon sucks on his bitten cheek to keep from screaming, the pain flares up his spine like someone has ignited a trail of fire over his skin. It hurts so bad that he can’t bring himself to speak, all he can do is gasp for air and keep watching the building, hoping the doctor will show up. As much as he hates the thought of submitting himself to the protection of another person, it’s hard to reject that offer in a moment of complete and utter weakness.   
  
“Normally I don’t wake up so early,” Jiho continues, “you know me, I like sleeping late. But I wanted to come and check on you this morning. Wanted to see how you slept last night.”   
  
Jiwon has a flashback about that dream again. He sees himself on his throne, sees Jiho at the front gate, working a menial job. Maybe he’ll make Jiho sleep outside, he’ll put him on a cot right by the front gate, so anyone who comes in or out will pass him by, jostling him in and out of sleep. He could do it.   
  
“We missed you at dinner last night,” Jiho says, “wondered if you’re allowed to eat with us anymore? Has Jiyong relegated you to having scraps with the dogs? Maybe we’ll call you Stray Dog from now on, huh?” Jiho sinks down until he’s sitting on Jiwon’s back and he winds his fingers into Jiwon’s hair and pulls his head back. “You gonna fucking answer me?”   
  
Jiwon wants to tell him to fuck off, wants to turn around and spit in his face. But all he can do is take one rattled breath to try and stave off the tears. He feels like he might pass out at any second, Jiho’s added pressure is making him feel infinitely worse, just like the dog earlier that morning.   
  
“It’s so sad, isn’t it? To see you kicked down off your perch. We all had such high hopes for you, you had so much fucking promise. You know I didn’t even object when Jiyong told me he was going to give Caligula to you? I wanted that prick for myself, but you’d been doing so good lately, and we thought it would just piss Germanicus off more if you kicked his son’s ass. But you failed us, didn’t you, Jiwon? We fucking gave you the biggest chance anyone has ever had, and you fucking ruined it.” Jiho pulls his head back again and leans forward, his mouth next to Jiwon’s ear. “It should have been me, you worthless sack of shit. I should have been the one who fought him, I could have killed him. Instead you made us all look like fucking trash.” Jiho shoves his face into the dirt, left side first, and that’s finally what knocks the scream from Jiwon’s throat, having his broken cheek mashed into the ground.   
  
“Hey, what the fuck is going on?!” A new voice suddenly yells, but Jiwon is too stuck on the pain to figure out who it belongs to.   
  
Jiho stands up. “He slipped.”   
  
“Like hell he did,” the voice replies, and Jiwon finally recognizes it as the doctor. “You’ve been told expressly that you are not to touch him, Jiho.”   
  
“I didn’t do shit, did I, Jiwon?” Jiho asks, standing above him while Jiwon writhes in pain on the ground.   
  
“Right, so he just fell all on his own? Face first into the ground?”   
  
“He was crawling on his hands and knees, I asked him if he wanted my help but the little bitch refused. Not my fault his arms gave out on him, is it?”   
  
“Jiwon?” Byunghoon calls to him. “Did he touch you?”   
  
What is he supposed to say? Be some little snitch, complaining that Jiho hurt him? That would only make him a bigger target. “No.”   
  
“Jiwon, you are under my protec—”   
  
“I said he didn’t!” Jiwon screams, rage and humiliation flooding his tone.   
  
Byunghoon sighs and shakes his head. “Fine. You want to keep protecting this shit, be my guest. But it appears that you were on your way to see me, so let’s get you up and inside.”   
  
Jiwon lays where he is, because he knows that he can’t stand. Not even with anyone’s help. The pain is too strong, he feels too weak to overcome it on his own. If Jiho weren’t here he’d ask for a drug, right now, he’d take it here on the dirt and then get up on his own when the numbing takes over.   
  
“Jiho, be useful for once and pick him up, bring him inside for me.”   
  
“No!” Jiwon yells. He doesn’t want Jiho touching him. Not again.   
  
The feeling is mutual, at least. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Jiho retorts, “I’m not your fucking assistant.”   
  
“Of course not, you lack the required intelligence,” Byunghoon replies, “but you will do what I tell you, or I will talk to Jiyong about your refusal to follow orders regarding my patient.”   
  
“Go for it,” Jiho replies, “he’ll tell you to fuck off.”   
  
“You think so, do you? You think he’ll side with you over me? He and I may not see eye to eye on  everything, but my value eclipses yours. If you were smarter, you’d see that on your own. So pick my patient up and bring him inside. Don’t make me tell you again.”   
  
Jiwon wishes he could struggle away but he can’t, instead he bristles when he feels Jiho’s arms slide under him and lift him off the ground. He keeps his eyes shut as he’s carried inside, can’t bring himself to look at Jiho. It’s too much, the indignity of being carried around like some broken child. The rage he feels at his own situation boils inside of him until it reaches the heat of his physical pain.   
  
Jiho drops him on one of the tables and doesn’t bother sticking around to talk down to him, clearly too affronted to remain in the vicinity of the doctor any longer. Jiwon wishes he could sit up, but he barely feels like he can lie flat at the moment. He’d probably pass out if he had to sit up. Either that or he’d be throwing up from the pain.   
  
“How are you this morning, Jiwon? You look terrible.” Byunghoon pulls a rolling stool over to his bedside and looks down at him with calculating eyes.   
  
“I need meds,” Jiwon croaks out.   
  
“Ah, is your back hurting?”   
  
“Yes,” he replies, and for a split second it looks like the doctor just smiles at him. But then he’s up, moving away, hopefully doing something about the pain, but all he can do is lie there and wait.   
  
Finally the doctor returns, and he’s got a glass of water and two capsules. Jiwon can’t even move to take them, so the doctor pushes the orange capsules into his mouth and tips the water in, and Jiwon swallows them down but not without spluttering a bit. It hurts to swallow, his throat still feels swollen. But very soon after taking the pills he can feel the fast-acting effect. The fire in his back lessens, and after a few minutes he can actually push himself up into a seated position. His cheek doesn’t hurt as much anymore, and he starts to feel like he could probably stand up and walk without any problem.   
  
“Do you feel better?” Byunghoon asks, and Jiwon nods.   
  
“Yeah, actually I feel great. Remind me to grab some of those from you before I leave.”   
  
Byunghoon’s expression gets serious. “You won’t be taking any of these with you when you leave. I purposefully did not give you enough medication to last you until this morning, because I wanted you to know exactly how you would be feeling without my help. Your only access to this medication is through me, therefore you will do what I tell you to do, and you will show up on time to your appointments. Your doses will only last you long enough to make it back to me. Any deviation from the schedule that I have set you will result in the return of this morning’s pain. If you do not follow through on the routine that I have set for you, I will cut off your access to your medication. Am I understood?”   
  
Jiwon listens with a jolt of anger and fear. How dare he?! Everything he’d felt this morning, the intense pain, the degradation of crawling across the dirt, the way he’d had to be carried in here by Jiho… It had all happened just so the doctor could remind him to follow orders?   
  
Byunghoon smiles at the look of utter indignation and rage on Jiwon’s face. “You see, Jiwon, I know you, and I know that the last thing you want is to be some doctor’s pet plaything. But you are alive thanks to me, and I will continue to keep you alive. You will be granted no glorious death if you defy me, and if you try to take your own life, I promise you that I will bring you back, and you will suffer. I have put too much money into you to allow you to fuck up my life’s work. So I suggest that you accept your fate. Your life is in my hands, and I will hold the reins until I no longer require you. Is that understood?”   
  
Jiwon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for weapons, for some way to take his growing fury out on the doctor. He would have been fine to do as he’d been told! He would have done his stupid exercise, would have shown up to his stupid appointments, would have done what he had to do to get better!   
  
“Are you thinking of attacking me, Jiwon? I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Byunghoon threatens, “the medication you require is an unusual mix of chemicals, it is my own creation. You cannot have it recreated by any pharmaceutical company, it is a cocktail that I alone know the recipe to. It is specially formulated to work with the compound I have coated your spine with. If you take the wrong thing, it could have an adverse effect on my work. Paralysis would return, paralysis and pain every bit as intense as you felt this morning. Do you think anyone here would be willing to help you? You will become everyone’s pet, a dog to be chained up and kicked around as a means of entertainment. I watched Jiho approach you this morning. I allowed that to happen as another reminder. You have no friends here, Jiwon. I am your only friend now, as long as you do what I tell you.”   
  
Jiwon fixes him with a sullen expression and wonders how much of it is true. Are the drugs really some special fabrication of his own making? Could his paralysis really return if he takes something else? He watches as the doctor turns to his computer, clicking away into a program.   
  
He has no way of knowing what to believe. It is true that he’s got something in his back, curing his paralysis. He can’t risk fucking that up, can’t risk losing his legs again. Maybe the doctor does have a point in what he’d said. He doesn’t want to be tied to him like this, doesn’t want to be his test subject. Maybe for now, he thinks he’ll be fine to do as he’s told. But he would have started fighting that soon enough.   
  
The doctor was right to remind him of what’s at stake. He doesn’t want to be a test subject but he is, and as much as the doctor has given him, he can take it all away just as easily. He doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want to live as a cripple.   
  
So he’s tied to the doctor, whether he likes it or not. But he won’t be broken forever. It will pass eventually, he’ll be fully healed. That’s when he’ll get his revenge, if he still feels entitled to it. For now he’ll do as the doctor tells him. But he’ll remember this. He’ll remember everything.   
  


* * *

  
“I saw Jiwon this morning,” Jiho says with a grin, taking a swig of his beer. After his run in with the doctor he’d spent the rest of the morning on his own, driving around the city, thinking. He’s never really liked Kim Byunghoon, has always felt like the doctor has operated on continued ulterior motives that benefit no one but himself. But the insult… Acting like Jiyong would side with a fucking doctor over him. Doctors can be replaced easily. But top fighters? No way. Jiyong would have his back.   
  
“Oh yeah? How pathetic was he looking?” Woojin asks.   
  
“I found him crawling on his hands and knees, just like the cripple he is. He couldn’t even stand up.” Jiho replies.   
  
“Did you kick him around?” Yongguk asks.   
  
“I didn’t even have to,” Jiho answers, “he was broken. Looked like shit.”   
  
“I can’t believe he actually took his stuff back out of the trash,” Woojin says with a laugh, “it probably all smells like shit.”   
  
“Making him sleep outside, too, that was a killer idea,” Wonho adds, “I saw his little garbage pile before lunch, it’s pathetic.”   
  
“Yeah it’s an eyesore, we should dismantle it for him and make him move his shit somewhere else.” Yongguk suggests.   
  
“Right next to the dogs,” Woojin replies, “he’s no better than an animal now.”   
  
“I just can’t believe Jiyong is letting him stay,” Wonho says with a tone of disgust, “I get that doc’s doing his research, but he should do that shit off base. Or keep him locked up or something. I don’t wanna have to look at him.”   
  
“I agree, it’s not good for morale. What do you think, boss?” Yongguk defers to Jiho, who’s been listening with a smirk pulling up his lips. But his eyes have been watching Donghyuk for a bit, noting the apparent discomfort of their youngest member.   
  
“What do you think, Donghyuk? You wanna be the one to have that conversation?”   
  
The past 24 hours have been a struggle for Donghyuk. On one hand, he is legitimately angry with Jiwon for losing and thinks he could have done better in the match. What’s happening to him now is entirely his own fault, and Donghyuk doesn’t feel sorry for him. But on the other hand, he misses Jiwon in a way he didn’t know he could miss another person, like he’s only got the use of one arm. He doesn’t think Jiwon should get a free pass on his loss, but he also isn’t really keen on watching him suffer, and he doesn’t want any part in harassing him. If only he’d died, or hadn’t woken up, life would be a hell of a lot easier.   
  
But he’s stuck, and he meets Jiho’s curious look with a defiant gaze. “I can’t talk to Jiyong, I’m not senior enough for that.”   
  
“Would you though, if you were?” Jiho asks, and Donghyuk can hear the unasked question in his voice. It unsettles him and he feels panic creep up his throat unbidden, so he takes a sip of his beer to force it back down. Does Jiho think he’s not loyal to them? He hasn’t shown any compassion for Jiwon, not in front of them.   
  
“Of course I would,” he boasts, “if I were in your position I’d have been in there already, demanding that he stays out of sight.”   
  
Jiho’s grin widens at the answer. “Oh, so you think I’m not doing my job?”   
  
Donghyuk struggles to keep his composure. “I didn’t say that—”   
  
“I think you kinda did,” Jiho replies, and there’s silence all around the table as the other three watch the showdown. But Jiho sits back and drains his beer and suddenly the tension is gone. “I haven’t actually had a chance to talk to Jiyong yet, so you’re not wrong. He’s been too busy with Youngbae, no one’s been able to talk to him for a few days.”   
  
Donghyuk’s relieved at the answer and the change of topic and he pounces on it. “Was Youngbae still around when you got recruited? Do you remember much about him?”   
  
“Yeah he was still here, I only knew him for about six months before he got snatched by the pigs.”   
  
“He was pretty nice to us new kids back then,” Yongguk adds, “or at least nicer than Jiyong.”   
  
Donghyuk listens to Jiho and Yongguk recount stories of their experiences with the mysterious new addition to their crew, but his mind is back on Jiwon. Jiho’s question hangs in his thoughts, like a cobweb you brush away after walking into it, but a strand still clings to your face no matter how many times you try to wipe it off.   
  
If he was the senior one among them, would he really demand Jiwon’s removal? If he’d been the one who’d found Jiwon this morning instead of Jiho, would he have ground his face into the dirt the way Jiho had done?   
  
If their positions were reversed there’s no doubt in his mind that Jiwon would be doing to him exactly what Jiho is doing. Jiwon would be in his face at every second, reminding him of his failure, spitting on him and stomping him into the dirt. Because strength is everything to Jiwon, nothing else matters except being the strongest fighter you can be.   
  
He can’t insult Jiwon by thinking differently. Sympathy, compassion, and second chances aren’t what they’ve spent all these years fighting for. That’s not what they’re about, never has been. They’re about being elite, and being strong, being the toughest assholes out there. Their life’s mission is to destroy everything and everyone who stands in their path. There’s no sympathy for the weak.   
  
He has to follow Jiho’s example, no matter what Jiwon might say now.   
  
Because this Jiwon isn’t his Jiwon. It’s not the guy who protected him all those years when they lived as orphans on the street, it’s not the same guy who pushed him his hardest when they joined the group. This new Jiwon, under some doctor’s protection? This is just a weak fabrication, some lesser version, nothing more than the echo of his last scream. He can’t taint the memory of Stray Bullet by coddling this weakling with a broken back.   
  
Jiwon would hate him for it.   
  


* * *

  
“So what’s your end goal with all this? You looking to take over, align yourself at the top? Or are you just trying to topple a regime and see where the pieces lay afterwards?”   
  
Jiyong contemplates the question, because he’s conflicted over his own answer. What he wants for himself isn’t necessarily what he wants for the group, but how does he reconcile the two? “Right now, I’m more of a mind to topple the regime and see what happens. There’s no way we could take The Legion’s place, not with this group at least. These guys are good for destroying, but they’d be shit for building.”   
  
Youngbae smirks at the response and leans back in his chair. “True. The Legion’s hands are too tied to politics, they’ve got fingers in everything. This is a beast that can’t be slain simply by cutting off its head.”   
  
“No, it can’t. Even if we cut all three of them off, a new one will emerge. The body is too strong to go down without being completely dismantled.”   
  
Youngbae fixes him with a curious look, and Jiyong waits for the inevitable question. They haven’t seen each other in years, but Youngbae still knows him better than anyone. He can still guess at the real end goal. “I wonder if you even want the body to be dismantled at all?”   
  
“What an intriguing question,” Jiyong replies, and their gazes meet and hold. Neither of them look away, but Youngbae changes the topic first.   
  
“What you really want with this is a response,” Youngbae says, “if I’m not mistaken?”   
  
“A proper response,” Jiyong replies, “nothing vague about it, it’ll have to be specific.”   
  
“You want him to name you as a direct threat,” Youngbae says, and he chuckles at his own words. “I’m honestly a little surprised, you were never one for the spotlight before. You were happy to do your thing and retain some mystery about you. Now you want the world to know your name.”   
  
“Well, time changes us all, doesn’t she?” Jiyong asks.   
  
“That’s a fact,” Youngbae replies, “time has been kind to some and cruel to others.”   
  
“And yet to some it hasn’t been cruel enough. But you’re back now, and together we’ll right all those wrongs. We’ll claim the things we need to claim, and we’ll take them by force. I look forward to it.” Jiyong raises his glass to his lips, taking a sip of scotch, and watches Youngbae, who hasn’t touched his own glass yet.   
  
Youngbae regards him with an amused expression suddenly. “For the longest time I wondered whether you’d welcome me back after prison,” he says, leaving the statement open for Jiyong to interpret.   
  
“Did you doubt me?” Jiyong asks.   
  
“Every day. Up until the moment I looked you in the eyes, I doubted you.”   
  
Jiyong is pleased to hear it. “You were right to. Your situation could have hurt me, could still hurt me in the future if things go as planned. But some bonds run deeper than others, ours is one of them.”   
  
“That gives me some comfort to hear out loud.” Youngbae finally picks up his glass of scotch and drinks the entire ounce in one shot. “So we cut off the main head, and wait for the beast to come crawling our way, intent on claiming revenge.”   
  
Jiyong picks up the bottle and refills both of their glasses. “That’s the plan. He’ll have no choice but to give me what I want.”   
  
“A bold assumption with so little to go on, but given what we’ve seen so far, I agree with you. We kill Germanicus in the least respectful way, right out in the open, bullet to the head. Then you fight Caligula in the pit, and we take stock in the aftermath.”   
  
“I just wish I knew how he did it,” Jiyong says softly, fingers skimming along the rim of his glass, “he saw things during that match that he shouldn’t have been able to see, hit moves he shouldn’t have been able to hit. How? What have they done to him?”   
  
“You think it’s some kind of mod?” Youngbae asks the obvious question.   
  
“It has to be, you’ve seen the fight. Parts of it looked choreographed, I had that feeling while watching it live. He would position himself but wouldn’t look over his shoulder, and then account for Jiwon’s movements without seeing them. Like he  _ could _ see them. I need to know how.”   
  
“You want it for yourself,” Youngbae says, and Jiyong looks at him with eyes ablaze, the orange and red glow of a raging fire. Youngbae likes the eye mod.   
  
“Of course I do. Wouldn’t you?” Jiyong counters, and Youngbae smiles back at him before raising his glass.   
  
“Wouldn’t we all?” He takes a sip and fights the grimace. He’s not terribly fond of the liquor.   
  
“When I beat him, I’m going to take his corpse with me out of the pit. We’re going to study it, unlock all of his secrets.”   
  
Youngbae puts the glass back on the desk and studies Jiyong, wonders how things would have turned out had he not been arrested all those years ago? Maybe it’s a good thing he was, because prison has taught him the art of practicality. One of them needs to be realistic. But he’s glad to play into the whims of his oldest friend. “I couldn’t have picked a better time to get out of jail.”   
  
Jiyong smirks and looks back at him. “I second that. I’m glad you’re back. I don’t trust any of the others enough for the depths of my plans. It’s nice to have a second head to think them over with.”   
  
“I’m honoured to have that trust,” Youngbae replies.   
  
“You should be.” Jiyong answers, downing the glass and reaching for the bottle again. Tonight is a night for celebration, and tomorrow will be the beginning of the planning stage.    
  


* * *

  
It’s been a week since things have changed, and while Hanbin does enjoy the solitude, he also misses having his sister around. An entire week of uninterrupted sleep and mornings spent alone on his balcony have really driven the separation home. He’s kept her room unchanged despite the protests of the housing staff. It’s not like him to be so sentimental over something like this, but he’s kept his emotions mostly to himself.   
  
They’re all together now in their Roman garb, having just finished with the ceremony of Junhoe’s Naming Day celebrations. It had been a surreal experience, standing next to his father before the fire, conducting the ceremony together. They are of true equal standing for the time being, but it’s easy to fall into the habit of putting his father on a pedestal slightly above his own.   
  
“Hanbyul, we have an early morning training session, you should head back and get to sleep.”   
  
Hanbin can’t help but smirk at the comment, because he can see the defiance on his sister’s face the moment she hears the voice of her cousin, Kim Jisoo. They’ve been living together for a week, and it’s been a test of his cousin’s patience.   
  
Hanbyul crosses her arms and stands in front of Jisoo. “I’m not tired.”   
  
“I didn’t ask you if you were tired,” Jisoo replies, “I gave you an order. It’s late, you’re young. Like it or not, genetics prove that at your age you require a certain amount of sleep if you’re to perform at your best. You should have been in bed two hours ago, but ceremony allows for a late night.”   
  
Hanbyul glares at her and stands her ground, while Jisoo remains seated in calm composure. Hanbin watches them, half amused by Hanbyul’s stubbornness, but also half embarrassed by it.   
  
“Byul,” he calls, and the change in her body language is immediate. She turns to look at him with no trace of disrespect or irritation. But whatever she was hoping to get from him is not what’s on offer, and as soon as he fixes her with a hard look of displeasure she drops her gaze to the floor and sighs.   
  
“Do I have to go?” She asks him in a soft voice.   
  
“Hanbyul,” he calls to her again, waiting until she looks up at him, and she does, even though she knows that she’s in for a scolding. “You’re not a child, stop acting like one. You know what’s expected of you. Do it.”   
  
She frowns and turns her back on him, stalking out of the room without a goodnight said to anyone. He shakes his head and looks at Jisoo, who holds her frown until Hanbyul’s out of the room, at which point she grins back at Hanbin.   
  
“I hope she knows that I’m going to kick her ass tomorrow morning,” his cousin says with a touch of mirth, and Hanbin grins back at her.   
  
“Do it, don’t have any mercy on her, she’s made her bed.” Hanbin replies.   
  
“She’s really into the brat stage now, huh?” Junhoe cuts in, taking a seat opposite the pair of them. “She used to be so eager to do whatever she was told.”   
  
“She’s still quick to do what I tell her,” Hanbin replies, “she might not like it, but she does it.”   
  
“She clearly misses being with you,” Jisoo says, “she never shuts up about you.”   
  
“Can you blame her? He was too soft on her,” Junhoe teases, taking a sip of his whiskey.   
  
“You know the happiest day of her life was the day when you moved out?” Hanbin retorts with a grin.   
  
“Bullshit,” Junhoe replies, “why did she come visit me every day then?” Junhoe counters.   
  
“I was teaching her about having compassion for those less fortunate.” Hanbin jokes, and they both laugh at the barb before he looks back at Jisoo. “Don’t worry about her, honestly. She’s just testing you because you’re new.”   
  
“Well that kid is fighting a losing battle,” Jisoo replies, “I’m going to run her into the ground tomorrow morning, all with a smile on my face.”   
  
“Do it,” Hanbin replies with a grin, “she wants to train, it’ll be good for her. If she’s not crying by the end of it you’re not doing a good enough job.”   
  
“This from the guy talking about compassion just a second ago,” Junhoe teases, “now his eyes sparkle when he talks about making his sister cry.”   
  
“You just get joy out of seeing me suffer, don’t you?” Jisoo adds, shaking her head at Hanbin.   
  
“You knew what you were in for when you accepted this position,” Hanbin replies, draining his glass of wine.   
  
“True, I was willing to do what I had to in order to get back to the mainland for a while.”   
  
“Was the fresh air of Jeju giving you health problems?” Junhoe asks sarcastically, and Jisoo kicks his leg.   
  
“Hey, Divine One, go get us another bottle of wine.”   
  
Junhoe flashes her an affronted scowl. “Excuse me? I’m not your servant to order around! We’re of equal ranking now.”   
  
“No we’re not,” Jisoo replies, glancing at Hanbin, “tell him how it is, cousin.”   
  
Hanbin grins at Junhoe. “Sorry bro, you know the rules. Jisoo’s a blood relative, she’s always going to be slightly higher than you.”   
  
“This is bullshit,” Junhoe replies, just to be dramatic, before standing up and walking over to the liquor cart. He refills his glass of whiskey before grabbing another bottle of wine for the pair and returning to his seat. He refills their glasses, but only gives Jisoo half a glass.   
  
“Excuse me, peasant, fill it up!” Jisoo retorts, shaking her glass at him.   
  
“Can’t do that, sorry,” Junhoe replies with a grin, “you’re training my little sister tomorrow morning, so you should ease up on the wine so she doesn’t show you up.”   
  
“Mr. Divinity has a point,” Hanbin says, and the newest nickname sets the three of them snickering.   
  
“Fine!” Jisoo replies with a dramatic sigh, “let’s make a toast to that little brat.”   
  
“To the princess of combat boots,” Hanbin starts, holding his glass up.   
  
“She who stomps faces and breaks noses,” Junhoe continues, adding his glass.   
  
“She who says sleep is for the weak, and I ain’t no bitch,” Jisoo finishes, and they all stifle laughs as they clink their glasses together and take sips.   
  
“So, Hanbin, what are you going to name her if she decides to fight?” Jisoo asks, and Hanbin grins back at her.   
  
“Something devastating,” he replies.   
  
“We should make an exception to the Roman names with her, name her after that Egyptian cat god instead,” Jisoo replies, and they both laugh.   
  
“She’d love that, actually,” Junhoe says, “she’d want a solid gold statue. Cat head on her body? Or her head on a cat body? Something ridiculous.”   
  
Hanbin grins at the thought. “I can see the request now. Dad would shake his head and sigh, mom would secretly love it but pretend not to, but she would vote for it. I, as the tiebreaker, would absolutely allow it.”   
  
“Every girl deserves a statue,” Jisoo replies.   
  
“We can make one for you too,” Junhoe says, “you can be Medusa.”   
  
“Oh yeah?” Jisoo replies, “you’ll be my first victim, Caesar Salad. I’m sure the family would be lining up to thank me for putting an end to your incessant noise.”   
  
“I can’t believe you called him Caesar Salad,” Hanbin cuts in, “I hope that doesn’t catch on.”   
  
“Get your journalist to write his post-match article and call it  _ Tossing Caesar’s Salad, _ ” Jisoo replies, and they both laugh at Junhoe’s irritated scowl.   
  
“If that takes off I know who to blame!” Junhoe glares at her and takes another sip of his whiskey, mostly to keep himself from laughing. He refuses to give in. Even if it is funny.   
  


* * *

  
Jinhwan’s been busy with new assignments lately, a recurring series of articles on the rising re-growth of the solar power industry. After nearly three decades of increased cloud activity over the northern hemisphere, they’ve entered a period of increased solar activity. Even with the approaching short days of winter, the sun is expected to provide enough power to run the entire city off of it. He’d been annoyed with the series at first, but when you spend enough time listening to research done by scientists who understand how to speak to the masses, it gets interesting.    
  
He’s finished off his next two parts though, so tonight he’s returning to the story he’s desperate to tell. He’s meeting his smuggling ring contact for a drink and an update. They’re at some lower end club near the warehouse district, a place that looks like it’s doubling as a drug den but is actually completely clean. Of course the bartender flashes addresses to approved customers, herding them off in the right direction when they need something extra.   
  
Jinhwan would know, because that place providing the  _ something extra _ is where he met his contact. He’d had to snort a few lines of coke for the in, and he’s thankful they’re meeting here tonight so he won’t have to do it again. The high was interesting, but he’d rather keep his head on straight for the night. He’s a little concerned that his newfound position with The Legion might attract some attention that will jeopardize his situation. He wants this story.   
  
So he does himself up for the night out, dresses more casual than usual. He’s not looking to hook up or even flirt with anyone tonight. He tells Jinwoo a fake friend’s name when he leaves, though he does tell him the right bar. He won’t tell Jinwoo everything, but he’ll give him just enough in case something happens. To clear his own conscience, at least.   
  
He meets his contact outside the bar, accepting the offer of a cigarette even though he rarely smokes. But appearances are important, so he spends the next ten minutes with him out front, cigarette dangling from his lips, making up bullshit stories about a workplace that doesn’t actually employ him. It’s not all a complete fabrication, though. The company exists, and the employees exist. He’s just borrowed his “job” from a friend who talks a lot.   
  
As they’re heading inside is when Jinhwan makes eye contact with a bouncer, and something in the steely gaze of his eyes and the short nod he gives has Jinhwan at a loss for words. It’s obvious to him that the man’s a Legion plant. He’s gotten good at picking them out. But the fact that one of them is here has him equal parts concerned and angry.   
  
How did they know? Is his phone bugged? Is someone listening in on his conversations? There are no text messages exchanged between he and his contact, they’re strictly spoken word only. The thought that someone is hearing his conversations and making strategic plans based on them has his skin crawling. Because there’s no way that the guy is here working a normal second job. The Legion doesn’t operate on coincidence. Everything is planned and executed to seamless perfection.   
  
But there’s nothing for it now, he can’t suggest they go elsewhere without blowing his cover. And really, what difference does it make?   
  
An hour later finds him three drinks in and waiting for his contact, who’s gone off to the bathroom. It’s going well, he’s got the guy buying his story, and he’s pretty sure that tonight will be the night that he finally gets real information. He’s trying to get in with the group, has been setting himself up as a potential fence given his “job” in shipping. He’s hoping to get an actual name tonight, maybe an address if he’s lucky.   
  
He wonders if anyone at the Legion knows about the smuggling ring? They have their fingers in so many things, though from his findings most of them tend to be legal. He can’t imagine they’d be willing to face potential backlash over an association with human smuggling.   
  
“Hey, aren’t you that guy who wrote that shit article about Stray Bullet?”   
  
Jinhwan keeps his features schooled perfectly when he hears the accusation, not turning around to face the guy yet because he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s responding out of recognition. He has to wait for it, and it comes a second later, a hand on his arm, and he finally turns to face the guy.   
  
“Yeah, you’re that piece of shit journo who used to say good things about him, then you turned into the fucking Legion’s bitch! I knew I recognized your face!”   
  
Jinhwan glares at him but maintains an air of confusion. “You have the wrong person, I’m not some writer, I work in shipping.” But the guy tightens his hand and gets up in his face and Jinhwan braces himself for the hit, hopes the guy’s drunk so his balance is off. He’s not a fighter, has never had any real interest in learning. But he’s taken some self defense classes because you need to know how to get out of situations when you dabble at the edge of shady industry. But the hit never comes.   
  
“Is there a problem here?”   
  
It’s the Legion bouncer, and he’s got Jinhwan’s accuser in his grip.   
  
“Hey, let me go! I got a problem with this guy, I’ve been looking for him, he said some shit about my friend!” There’s a slur in the guy’s voice and Jinhwan knows then that he’s definitely drunk. He steps back to let the Legion meathead deal with it.   
  
“You don’t touch anyone in my club, asshole,” he says to the guy before wrenching his arm behind his back and marching him to the door, jostling people in the crowd. Jinhwan watches in disbelief, more bothered that someone recognized him as a sports journalist. He needs to move fast on his story before he blows his cover with the creep of newfound fame.   
  
“Fuck was that about?”   
  
Jinhwan turns to face his contact, who must have caught the tail end of the exchange. Jinhwan shrugs and picks his glass of beer up, taking another sip. “Fuck if I know, some drunk just grabs my arm and screams in my ear about how I’ve been talking shit about some friend of his.”   
  
“Fuckin’ degenerate,” his contact replies with a grin, “shit like that always highlights how good security is here. I’ve seen a few fights almost break out, but right before a punch gets thrown some bouncer always shows up just in time, like they’ve got some kinda radar or somethin’.”   
  
“Well, glad we didn’t go somewhere with shit security,” Jinhwan replies with a shrug, downplaying the event despite still being slightly shaken. He just doesn’t want his cover blown. Well, he doesn’t want to get punched in the face either, but his cover is infinitely more important.   
  
“So listen, I just got a call from my friend while I was taking a leak,” his contact says, and Jinhwan’s heart races at the words because this is it! He can feel it. “He just moved, wanted me to give you his new address if you’re still looking for that extra work.”   
  
Jinhwan nods and takes another sip of beer. “Yeah, still planning that vacation to Italy so I need some extra cash for a bit.”   
  
The guy hands him a slip of paper and Jinhwan picks it up and studies it, committing the address to memory. Seconds later he pulls his lighter out and ignites the end of the paper, watching as it goes up in smoke, too quick for anyone to notice. By the time people smell the scent he’s already grinding ash against the floor with his shoes.   
  
“He expects you this week,” the guy tells him, “he said to come by after 10, cause he works off-site during the day.”   
  
Jinhwan nods, his stomach clenching in half fear and half exhilaration. He’s about to enter the most dangerous part of his operation, the initial contact with the actual organization. If they decide they don’t like him, or if they recognize him as a reporter, then they might just kill him on sight. They have the means to clean it all up.   
  
“Great, I usually finish my work late on Tuesday so I’ll drop by then, say some good words for you when I meet up with him. Thanks again for this, I appreciate it.” Jinhwan takes another sip of his beer and tries to stifle the excitement.   
  
“No problem. I got another call to make now though, but it was good meeting up tonight, let’s do it again some other time.” The guy says, and Jinhwan nods and watches him disappear into the crowd. He takes his phone out and opens his weekly shopping list, making a few additions to it:   
  
_ 200 grams of tuna _ _   
_ _ 170 grams of swordfish _ _   
_ _ 24 pack of tp _ _   
_ _ 3 lemons _ _   
_ _ fill gas up at oilbank _ _   
_   
The code’s sloppier than usual, and he really shouldn’t list Oilbank by name, but he can fix it up later. It’s still innocuous enough right now that if someone looked at his phone they wouldn’t assume it’s anything more than what it’s titled—a shopping list.   
  
He settles at the bar for a final drink before leaving, mainly to calm his nerves. He orders a single whiskey on the rocks and sips it slowly, fingers clutching the cold glass. He swivels around in his seat, eyes scanning the crowd inside the bar, looking for the bouncers. Was it only one of them here tonight, or is there a second? He’s been trying his best to ignore them, but tonight’s got him shaken up a little again.   
  
He finishes his drink without any further problem and leaves through the front door, hoping the drunk fan is gone. He is, and so is the Legion bouncer. There are a few people smoking out front, but no one’s paying him any attention. He heads down the street in the direction of the nearest train station, thoughts racing in his head. He purposefully picked Tuesday for the scheduled meeting so it wouldn’t be too long of a wait. Enough time to do research on the address and a bit of reconnaissance, but not too much time to get cold feet.   
  
He sticks to the main streets in the area, never straying from the light of the streetlamps, eyes on his surroundings, taking in the appearance of each new person he encounters. It’s the usual array of late night revelers this part of the city sees, and the constant flow of chatter keeps him feeling calm. He’s not sure if he’s being followed, hasn’t checked over his shoulder to see. He’s certain he’s got a Legion tail, though, something he’s slightly more grateful for tonight than he usually would be.   
  
What if his contact had heard the accusation? What if he’d been outed as a journalist? He has to be careful from now on, has to keep himself out of the spotlight. He doesn’t have a meeting scheduled with Hanbin this week, so he’s hoping that will keep his identity quiet for a little longer. He just needs enough time to get in, get details, and get them to the right people.   
  
He figures that maybe once he exposes the smuggling ring, Germanicus might approve of his appointment a little more. Not that his approval is that important, since Hanbin has demonstrated that he is clearly in charge of his own dealings. But it would still be nice.   
  
He enters the busy sky train station behind two young women who look like they’re on their way home from cram school. Society’s gotten a bit more lax on education over the past century, though it never feels that way when you’re the student. He’d thought that three hours of homework a night and writing an essay over the weekend was too much work when he’d been in high school. Then he’d taken a class on the history of education and learned that at one point in time students used to spend up to eighteen hours a day on school, at the bare minimum. Some of them still do, the ones who come from old families who are perched just below the edge of the upper class, their parents’ fingers scrabbling to shove their family upwards into a better life. But it’s not the norm anymore. It seems like half the population have given up.   
  
He waits in line behind the girls, his mind on the address he’d received, desperate to get home and start some research. But he’s roused out of his thoughts at the sound of gurgled laughter behind him, and his ears perk up to catch the whispered conversation.   
  
“Which one you think would suck dick better? Got my money on the one with the brown hair.”   
  
“Nah, you blind? You see how short that other one’s skirt is? Advertising it, man.”   
  
“That’s what she wants you to think, but she’s just making up for shit she can’t do by showing all that skin. You know, like guys who got small dicks but buy expensive cars?”   
  
“That why you drive a shitbox beater?”   
  
“You fuckin’ know it.”   
  
Jinhwan’s got his full attention of the conversation now, and it’s clear from the way the girls instinctually move closer together that they can hear it too. Some things in society never change, no matter what else does.   
  
“So I think brunette with the long skirt wants to look like she don’t know shit, that way when you get her, she can blow your mind. I bet that’s how she keeps her good grades, she just doesn’t want anyone to know so she dresses like she ain’t interested.”   
  
“You gonna go make her an offer then?”   
  
“Depends how long she’s willing to ride the train, you know?”   
  
The doors open and the girls rush inside, desperate to get away from the guys behind him. Jinhwan follows and sits down opposite them. He’s not about to let some entitled assholes ruin their night.   
  
“I know this might seem sudden, but I’m a journalist at Chosun Ilbo, doing a story on cram schools. I was wondering if I could ask you two some questions on your way home?” He smiles at them and whispers in a lower tone, “you know, hopefully keep those assholes away.”   
  
The girls nod at him with grateful expressions, mumbling that they’d be happy to help with his article. He’s not really writing anything, of course, but he’s well versed at asking questions and keeping conversations going.   
  
The two men take seats one row behind the girls and facing Jinhwan, and he can see the angry glares out of the corner of his eye. Good. At least they’re aware enough to know that he’s intentionally blocking them.   
  
Their conversation starts with some interview questions, and he’s amused when halfway through the conversation is derailed into popular celebrity crushes of the high school girl crowd. Of course, to no surprise, they list Hanbin near the top. These girls come from families who would strive to replicate the dynamics of the Legion’s example. If it weren’t for his attempts to stay somewhat concealed to protect his identity, Jinhwan would have been tempted to tell them that he knows Hanbin.   
  
Instead he keeps quiet and lets them talk, and after fifteen minutes they’re feeling comfortable in his presence, bright and bubbly, forgetting the fact that the two men from earlier are still sitting nearby. Three stops later the men finally exit, but not without turning around to stare at the girls, making them suddenly uncomfortable again.   
  
But they’re off the train and the girls share a look of relief again, and that makes it worthwhile to Jinhwan, who actually should have switched train lines five stops earlier, but he wasn’t willing to leave them unprotected. He might not always act in the best interest of others, but he tries to uphold a good moral code whenever it doesn’t interfere with his needs. It makes him feel like slightly less of a bad guy.   
  
The train slows again and the brunette addresses him.   
  
“This is our stop,” she begins, and bows slightly before fixing him with a grateful smile. “Thank you for talking with us.”   
  
He smiles back at her. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”   
  
“You’re not really writing an article, are you?” The other girl asks, and when Jinhwan looks at her curiously, she grins back at him. “You didn’t take any notes.”   
  
He grins back at her, surprised that she’d noticed, but happy as well. It’s good to know she’s got sound observational skills, at least. “You’re right. I am a journalist, but I’m not writing an article. It just seemed like the easiest way to keep those guys from bothering you.”   
  
“Thank you very much,” the first girl says again, “that’s so kind of you. I was afraid when I heard them talking.”   
  
The three of them stand up to leave the train together. “I’m sorry they bothered you, but I’m happy I was there to help. I actually missed my stop, but I didn’t want to leave you alone while they were still there.”   
  
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” The second girl replies.   
  
“I did.” Jinhwan says, and he stops on the platform. “Will you be okay to get the rest of the way home?”   
  
“Yes, we’re fine now. Thank you again, you’re so kind!”    
  
He watches as the girls walk off, smiling at his rare good deed. He heads in the opposite direction, to the underpass that will take him to the other side of the line, to retrace his journey back to the switching station. All in all it only added maybe another ten minutes to his trip home, but it helped out two good kids, stopped two assholes, and served to remind him that he still has the capacity to do the right thing when he should.   
  
Two minutes later he’s on his way back, sitting at the end of a train car and looking out the window, watching as the lights below zip by. He looks at his phone, sees that it’s just past eleven. He wonders if Jinwoo is still up? Jinwoo’s usually in bed by this time, since he wakes up early. Sometimes Jinhwan envies him his dedication to sticking to a routine, but there’s too much going on in his life. He can’t afford eight hours of sleep every day.   
  
He exits the train at his stop and heads down to the ground level, leaving the station and making for his apartment building. The air is cold and he pulls the collar up on his jacket. He’s going to have to get out his collection of scarves soon.   
  
He’s nearly home before he notices it—there’s definitely no one following him. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and looks around, but the street’s oddly empty. Usually there’s a car parked outside of his building, but even that isn’t there tonight. Something about that has him feeling nervous. It’s weird, how quickly his opinion of his security detail shifts.   
  
When they’re there, he’s annoyed by their presence. But when they’re not there, he’s afraid.   
  
He enters his building and pauses in the entryway, head swiveling left and right, looking down to the ends of both halls. He walks slowly towards the elevators, looking up to see which floors they’re currently on. Neither of them are stopped on his floor, but that means nothing with the amount of residents coming and going.   
  
He calls the elevator and stands back to wait as it descends seven floors. He breathes slowly, trying to fight off the growing sense of paranoia. When the doors finally chime and open he waits for a moment, but no one gets out, so he hurriedly slips inside and pushes the button for the ninth floor, one above his own. He’s got a bad feeling that could very easily be resolved by calling his brother, but he doesn’t want to chance waking Jinwoo up if he’s sleeping, especially over something that might be nothing.   
  
He doesn’t walk out onto the ninth floor right away, instead he hangs back behind the elevator door, fingers crossed over the sensor line so the doors stay open, and he waits. But no one comes to inspect the elevator, so he peers out from inside, looks down each side of the hall. There’s no one there, so he steps out of the elevator, his nerves frayed.   
  
Everything is quiet, there’s the faint noise of a TV coming from one of the apartments on the floor. He’s not sure why the absence of his guards has thrown him off so much, but it has. He can’t shake the feeling that something sinister has happened. He heads for the staircase, hyper alert of his surroundings, and quietly opens the door into the stairwell. He stands on the landing and looks out, but no one is there, so he wedges the door open and looks further down the stairwell, to see if anyone is waiting by the door to his floor. No one is in the stairwell at all, from what he can tell.   
  
He closes the door fully and quickly and quietly takes the stairs down to the eighth floor, grateful that he’d decided to wear sneakers instead of clicking boots tonight. He repeats the careful process on the eighth floor, opening the door and looking out. The usual Legion goon isn’t there, skulking around the end of the hall. He feels nerves settle in the pit of his stomach, wonders if maybe what happened at the club wasn’t just a chance encounter?   
  
Was it a message from the Death Brigade? Was it Jiyong’s way of saying that he hasn’t forgotten the betrayal, and that even with a Legion security detail, they can still get to him?   
  
He walks slowly towards his apartment, pausing outside the door to listen. Jinwoo is home, that much he knows, because his brother will always tell him if he’s going out. There’s no noise from inside, no TV, no music. So Jinwoo must be sleeping already.   
  
He quietly unlocks the door and pulls it open, unable to shake the nerves as he steps into his apartment. He’s probably just imagining it all. Maybe that whole incident with the creeps on the train jarred his subconscious. Maybe the guy who watches his floor had to take a leak? Maybe he’s out grabbing a coffee? Or maybe they’ve decided to stop keeping someone at his apartment all hours of the day?   
  
He locks the door behind him and pauses, listening again for any out of place sound. Usually Jinwoo runs a fan when he sleeps, for the white noise, but Jinhwan doesn’t hear it, and it’s got his nerves jumbled in the pit of his stomach. But then he looks down at the floor and sees a pair of boots that normally aren’t there, and suddenly everything makes sense.   
  
Seunghoon is here. That would explain the Legion’s disappearing act, wouldn’t it? Despite the fact that they’re not doing anything illegal, they still wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves with a police officer around. It might draw unwanted questions. Jinhwan kicks off his sneakers and hangs his keys up on the hook, followed by his coat, and then he walks into the living room, and that’s when he can see them standing together on the balcony.   
  
He pauses for a second to watch them, letting his heart rate slow back down to normal. Jinwoo is fine, he’s safe, sharing a glass of wine with his boyfriend and looking at the night sky. It was just a false alarm, he let paranoia hook an unwanted talon into his skin and dangle there until it worked itself out and fell away.   
  
He heads for his bedroom, suddenly exhausted after the intense burst of anxiety. He discards his clothes and grabs his laptop, the one with extra security measures enabled, the one that’s hooked into a backdoor entrance to the city’s internal server.   
  
He searches up the address he was given, pulls up some streetview cameras. The warehouse is emblazoned with the logo of a meat packing plant, of course, and he wonders if the choice stems from overconfidence and stupidity, or if they’re aiming to throw people off by hoping that no one would think they were dumb enough to be so obvious?   
  
He scrolls through footage, makes notes about the sorts of people who come and go, of trucks that enter but leave with swapped license plates. He wonders if he could run some searches on the plates, just to see what will come up? He makes a list of them, but finally after forty minutes he’s feeling sleep pull at his eyelids, so he closes his laptop and slides down to sleep. He’ll continue his research tomorrow.   
  
He’s asleep within ten minutes, so he’s not awake when his bedroom door opens an hour later.   
  
It’s only Jinwoo, who stares at his sleeping figure in disbelief, not used to seeing his younger brother home so early. Jinwoo stands at his door and watches him for a few minutes, just to take some peace in the fact that Jinhwan’s home early for once, before he leaves and heads back to his own room, sure to sleep soundly now that he knows where his brother is.   
  
But Jinhwan’s still being watched through the hidden camera in his room, and when he wakes up in the morning he’ll see the usual Legion guy back at the end of his hall.


	6. Fatal Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we don't know the name of Hanbin's mother (at least not to my knowledge) I've decided to name her Ji Ah for my story.
> 
> Also—this is it! You'll finally find out just how Hanbin and Jiwon will meet each other again at the end of the chapter. For those of you who've guessed over the past few chapters, time to see if you're close, or if you were way off the mark. ;)
> 
> This chapter is very long, over 30,000 words. The chapters from here on out should go back to "normal" length, which is to say between 5-10k words. I could have made this two chapters, but I wanted everything to be read all at once instead of broken up. So I hope it was worth the wait. :)

It’s been just over a month since their group dynamics have shifted, fate’s cruel fingers pulling at a loose thread until one arm unraveled and fell away. Everything is designed for six: six beds in their room, six chairs at their table in the dining hall, six seats in their designated SUV, three pairs to do different aspects of one job. Jiho and Yongguk were the first pair, the founding pair of the small group, the ones who recruited different members over time before finally settling on a final four. Woojin and Wonho became a pair not out of any particular bond to one another, but more so because Donghyuk and Jiwon had come as a ready-set pair first.   
  
And now Donghyuk is alone, the third wheel who shoulders the burden of his third of the work. He feels it acutely every time they do anything together—at meals, when he sits across from an empty chair, during sparring, when he has no rightful partner of his own, and at night, when he sleeps above an empty bed. He feels the space left behind, even though he refuses to acknowledge it.   
  
None of them speak of the absence out loud. They’ll make disparaging remarks when they see Jiwon, they’ll contribute to his harassment, but they won’t speak about the hole he’s left, they won’t acknowledge it with words.   
  
But sometimes they acknowledge it in other ways.   
  
Take today, for example: they’ve been summoned to Jiyong’s office, the five of them. There are only ever two chairs in front of Jiyong’s desk for visitors, and Jiho always takes one of them. When they were six the second chair had always been claimed by Jiwon, his right as the highest ranked fighter among them.   
  
No one claims the second chair now. The four of them remain standing.   
  
Donghyuk’s eyes slide around the office, looking at anything other than Jiyong. It’s well organized, everything put away in its place, and it’s very clean. The furniture is elegant but not obnoxious, clean lines and uniformity. The office represents everything the Death Brigade is not. But Donghyuk likes it, feels like it would be a good place to think, without all the chaos of the outside.   
  
They’re not alone with Jiyong today. Youngbae also sits behind the desk, making the divide clear. Despite being away for more time than he’s been here, and despite not being a fighter, Youngbae already outranks the lot of them through nothing more than Jiyong’s personal favour. Donghyuk doesn’t really care, but he wonders how badly it ruffles Jiho’s feathers. Jiho’s been trying to worm his way into Jiyong’s palm for years, everyone knows how badly he craves the opportunity to be Jiyong’s second in command.   
  
But now Youngbae is back, and sometimes Donghyuk catches Jiho watching him with an enviable expression. Youngbae clearly has what Jiho wants.   
  
Jiyong makes them wait for roughly ten minutes before he finally addresses them, something they’re all used to by now. Donghyuk isn’t sure what the point of it is, it’s not like anyone whispers in the shadows about Jiyong resting on his laurels, doing nothing. He’s always busy with some project. It’s probably just to reinforce the notion that his time is more important than theirs. Not that anyone would ever dare to assert otherwise.   
  
“As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, the Legion have another debut coming up soon,” Jiyong begins, eyes sliding from one to the other, ensuring their attention, “Germanicus’ adopted son, name yet to be revealed. He’s the one whose parents were assassinated ten years ago. He’s been raised alongside Caligula, and we can only assume they’ve trained together over the years.”   
  
“He was the archer at Caligula’s debut, wasn’t he?” Jiho asks, and Donghyuk recalls the image. Tall, muscular, golden blonde hair. He was awfully precise with the arrow.   
  
“Yes,” Jiyong replies, “so we’ve already seen him close up.”   
  
“Are we getting him?” Jiho asks again, a second question spoken out of turn, and Donghyuk watches Jiyong while he’s focused on Jiho, and he’s pretty sure Jiyong’s eyes crease slightly in irritation at the interruption.   
  
“No. He’s going to the Organ Grinders.” Jiyong doesn’t have to say it. They’re all aware that they’ve slipped out of their second spot in the group rankings with Jiwon’s monumental loss. There’s no sense in being angry about it, and really, after seeing Caligula in the pit, Donghyuk thinks it’s a good thing that they’ll be able to watch this new guy fight someone else first.   
  
“I will be at the match with Youngbae, we’ll be scouting him in person. Jiho,” Jiho looks at Jiyong with an eager expression, and Jiyong stares hard at him before continuing, “you’ll accompany us.”   
  
Donghyuk can’t help but feel annoyed, even though he shouldn’t. Jiho’s obsessive pandering to Jiyong never used to bother him before, but his feelings on a lot of things have begun to shift after losing Jiwon.   
  
“The rest of you will be there as well, but not inside the venue.” The four of them regard Jiyong with curious expressions, intrigued at the promise of what’s to come. “We’ll be preparing an event for the end of the night, regardless of the outcome of the match.”   
  
Tense excitement begins to fill the air around them, Donghyuk can practically feel the charge with the way his skin comes alive with goosebumps. Something is about to happen. Revenge? They’re moving against the Legion, doubtlessly. He doubts that Jiyong will say it’s revenge for Jiwon, but that’s the cause Donghyuk will hold on to in his own heart.    
  
“Of the four of you, who is the best shot with a rifle?”   
  
The question hangs in the air between them, with silence as its buffer, and they ponder the inquisition. Donghyuk’s breath catches in his throat as he waits for confirmation, because there’s only one thing that can happen if Jiyong is asking this particular question.   
  
Someone is going to die. Someone is going to be gunned down out in the open after the fight.   
  
Donghyuk looks pleadingly at Jiho, because even though Jiyong has asked the question to the four of them, Jiho is their leader, so he’ll make the choice. None of them are particularly better than the other, and Donghyuk hopes that maybe Jiho might see that giving the task to him will help him get over the loss of Jiwon. Donghyuk needs the opportunity for revenge.   
  
“Yongguk,” Jiho decides, fixing his friend with a grin. Yongguk beams back at him and Donghyuk stews in his irritation over the favoritism. He’s not surprised, though. Yongguk and Jiho joined at the same time and have been nearly inseparable ever since. Of course Jiho would choose him. But envy twists in his gut. He wants to be the one.   
  
“Who’s my target?” Yongguk asks.   
  
Donghyuk faces Jiyong, waiting for the answer. Which member of the Legion are they going to kill? As much as he wishes death on Caligula, he only wishes it to come by his own hand, not Yongguk’s. He doesn’t deserve to make Caligula atone for his crimes against Jiwon. But that death would also be too simple, too easy for him. He should suffer.   
  
Killing Germanicus would throw the group into greater disarray. But it also might be neither of them. It can’t be the new guy, because Jiyong said it would happen regardless of the outcome of the fight, and if he’s killed, then there would be no body to shoot. He doesn’t think Jiyong would be stupid enough to target Ji Ah, the speaker of parliament. That would invoke a war with the military. Their daughter? Child or not, Donghyuk wouldn’t be sad to see her shot down in the street.   
  
Jiyong doesn’t answer right away, he just fixes his gaze on Yongguk and stares at him without blinking, like he’s sizing him up to ensure he’s fit to the task. They all wait for the answer, no one daring to hurry it along.   
  
“Your target is Germanicus. I want a single clean shot to the head, nothing dramatic. Just a point blank execution. Can you handle that?”   
  
Yongguk’s posture straightens and he wears an expression of gratitude. “Consider it done, boss.”   
  
Jiyong nods. “Only one shot, Yongguk. You’ll take one bullet only with you, so make it count. The rest of you will be there on the ground, I want a scene of utter chaos, draw the diversion to ensure Yongguk’s location is not compromised. You will corral the crowd and make it impossible for anyone to get in or out of the area.” Jiyong looks at each of them in turn, serious and focused in his expression. “These people will panic, and you will incite their panic to a greater degree. You are not to harm any other senior member of the Legion. If their security detail get in the way, react accordingly and do what you deem necessary. But you will not harm any other member of the family. Only Germanicus will be killed. Is that understood?”   
  
They all nod in acceptance of his decree. Even though Donghyuk wishes he could be the one pulling the trigger, he’s less jealous now that he knows it’s not Caligula they’re targeting. Now he can just be excited to be there, to be a part of the assault. The only people involved are the people in this room, and he’s one of them. This is a great honour, whatever part of it he gets to touch.   
  
“Will we be outside to see it?” Jiho asks, and Donghyuk can see the jealousy in Jiho’s eyes. He wants to be the one who fires the killing shot, but he won’t be. Donghyuk can’t help but be a little pleased about that, even though it doesn’t help him to take pleasure in Jiho’s disappointment. It’s dangerous ground to tread.   
  
“No, we’ll still be inside the venue at the time. The three of us must be visible to witnesses when this goes down.” Jiho nods at the explanation, trying to hide his disappointment.   
  
Donghyuk looks around, waits to see if anyone else will ask the question on his mind. But no one does, so he speaks up. “Are we claiming this?” From the sounds of it, it seems like Jiyong doesn’t want to own it publicly. What’s the point in taking out someone of such relevant importance if they don’t claim the destruction? But it would cause an actual war, he’s sure. Either way, Germanicus will be the first of many deaths.   
  
Jiyong fixes his gaze on him, rewarding him with a small smile, clearly glad that someone is thinking of the bigger picture. “Not directly, which I’m sure you can understand. I will publicly comment on the death, with a carefully worded statement. They’ll know that we’re responsible, but there’ll be no proof. The police will bring some of us in for questioning, so we’ll discuss that potential in the coming days. That’s also why this is to remain in this room. Speak to no one else of our plans. I trust you all not to crack.”   
  
“What’s our end goal, aside from Germanicus dying?” Jiho asks.   
  
“It’s better if I say nothing right now, but we’ll discuss that as well when the time is right for it. Coordinate among yourselves regarding your diversionary tactics. We’ll meet again in a week to discuss and shore up plans. Jiho, ensure your team is ready.”   
  
Jiho nods, and together the five of them file out of the office and head outside, buzzing with excitement they can’t speak openly about. Jiho leads them to the patio, where three lower ranking members of the group are sitting, enjoying an afternoon free of responsibilities. Donghyuk watches as Jiho approaches them.   
  
“Get lost,” Jiho greets them, “we need to have a meeting and I can’t have you around for it.”   
  
Donghyuk takes a seat at one of the tables and grins as he watches the three other guys grab their beers and leave, looking irritated at the abuse of power. But that’s how things work here, and if they want preferential treatment, well, they’re going to have to earn it.   
  
The other take their seats at the table and as always, the seat across from him remains empty. But then his eyes pick up movement in the distance and he watches as someone shuffles into the medical building. He knows it’s Jiwon by the way he holds himself when he walks. He doesn’t say anything, hoping the others didn’t notice him. They’re always quick to spew hateful comments when they see if, even if he’s too far away to hear them. But no one notices him today, too focused on their plans. Jiwon escapes their conversation and Donghyuk is relieved about it. He’s not up for pretending to sling hate just now.   
  
“Alright boys, plans! Who’s got ‘em?” Jiho asks, starting the conversation.   
  
“We should smoke bomb the area as soon as the shot penetrates, for starters,” Wonho says, and Jiho nods in agreement.   
  
“Make sure you get the smoke right at their feet, smoke out any media cameras as well. Just make sure to wait until the shot happens.”   
  
“We should fire bomb their cars too. They’ll probably have their armoured cars as usual, but the crowd doesn’t pay attention to that, so when they see balls of fire hurtling at a car’s gas tank, they’ll panic.” Woojin suggests, eager to play with the explosives.   
  
“They always leave in one car, right? So let’s make sure we target the lead security vehicle, and not the family car,” Yongguk adds, “but maybe we can bring something to cover the windshield of the family car? Paint, or something? So the driver can’t see?”   
  
“That’s a clever idea,” Jiho replies, “keep that vehicle from moving out.”   
  
“I wonder if we could pay some homeless guys to start some shit? Like pretend they’re other fans, get them drunk and harassing Legion security, maybe get them to take a swing at them. Just draw some attention their way,” Woojin suggests, and the others start discussing what sort of tactics would work best to keep the security team distracted.   
  
Jiho sits back and listens with a smirk on his lips, pleased at their suggestions so far. But there’s one person who hasn’t suggested anything, and his eyes slide to Donghyuk, who’s sitting on the opposite side of the table next to Yongguk.   
  
“You got anything Donghyuk?” Jiho asks, arms crossed over his chest and expression serious.   
  
Donghyuk’s been listening, but his mind’s also been wandering. The minor distractions are all good and fine, but they need something that will really throw everyone for a loop. He meets Jiho’s questioning gaze and knows he’s about to deliver the best idea.   
  
“What’s the one thing people are going to care about more than whatever happens to the Legion?” He asks, and the others wait for his answer, coming up with nothing of their own. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “As distraught as people will be, they’re going to want to take pictures and video, they’ll want to live stream the carnage.”   
  
Jiho nods. “That’s true. Everyone there is going to want to tell everyone about what’s happening, they’ll be competing for views on their streams.”   
  
“Exactly. So what we need to do is cut everyone’s reception.” He pauses for only a second, long enough for the others to grin and grasp what he’s suggesting. “We put some kind of block on the area, make it so no one can connect to anything. They can’t make phone calls, they can’t text, they can’t send pictures, nothing. We need a complete blackout. You know how the people there will stop in their tracks if they realize they’re not online.”   
  
Whistles of appreciation greet him when he finishes, and he meets Jiho’s eyes again, who looks exceptionally please. “Brains of the fucking operation right here, boys,” Jiho says, “can we actually do it, though? How would it work?”   
  
Donghyuk isn’t sure about that part, but he knows that cell reception goes out often, especially in the poorer neighbourhoods, so there has to be a way to do it on purpose. “That I don’t know. But we have a whole team of techs who probably do know. We don’t tell them what we’re doing, we just tell them that we need to know how to do it.”   
  
“The new kid,” Jiho says suddenly, grinning at them, “Chanwoo, is it? He needs to be properly initiated. You know him?” Jiho asks Donghyuk, who nods.   
  
“Yeah I know him. I’ll talk to him about it next time I see him, but I’m sure he’ll know how to make it work. He’s a smart kid.” Donghyuk is elated that Jiho’s buying into his plan. Chanwoo is a smart kid, otherwise he wouldn’t have been recruited, but Donghyuk has no idea if he knows about this sort of thing. But he knows that Chanwoo will be the easiest one to bully in order to get what he wants.   
  
“Get the kid on board, but don’t explain anything to him. Confirm he can make it happen, we need to know with certainty before we tell Jiyong anything. So get that figured out.” Jiho instructs, and Donghyuk nods, pleased with himself for coming up with the idea. Anyone can recommend smoke bombs and fights. It takes someone with a little more intelligence to think of something bigger picture.   
  
Eventually Wonho and Woojin head over to the munitions warehouse to figure out what sort of products they want to bring, while Yongguk heads off to the range to practice head shots, which leaves Donghyuk alone with Jiho.   
  
“I know Jiyong said not to hurt anyone else, but what if we brought one of their security guards back with us? Knock a guy out, bring him back to base, let everyone have a go at him.” Donghyuk suggests, only now when they’re alone. Donghyuk watches as his facial expression shows off what he’s thinking—raised eyebrows and a far away look while he goes over the idea in his head, and a slow upturn of the lips when he seems to approve.   
  
“That could actually be fun.”   
  
Donghyuk is glad to hear the approval. “We won’t be able to actually do anything against the others, so this could be a way for everyone else to feel like they’re contributing, right? Kinda like sacrificing a lamb as an offering.”   
  
Jiho grins. “We could do some mock Roman temple thing,” he says, and Donghyuk nods in agreement, “the Romans used to do that shit, right? Animal sacrifices?”   
  
“Yeah! We could string him up like a pig, bleed him out over a fire of some shit,” Donghyuk replies, pleased with himself for the suggestion. It’s what they all need. A good distraction.   
  
“He’ll bless our part in the war,” Jiho jokes back, “I think Jiyong would love that. You’re coming up with some great ideas, Donghyuk.” The lines of Jiho’s face tighten again and Donghyuk can sense the pending interrogation. But he’s ready for the accusations. “I’ve been a little worried about you, ever since Jiwon.”   
  
Donghyuk keeps his features soft as he meets Jiho’s questioning eyes. He has to tread this conversation carefully, and he has to pay attention not just to what he says out loud, but to his body language as well. “I get why you’re concerned,” he begins, “and you know, I’m not gonna lie, it’s been rough, adjusting to shit without him. You know how far back we go. We came into this group together, I always thought we’d stick through it together too.”   
  
“He took care of you after your parents died, right? You guys lived on the streets for a few years?” Jiho asks, because while he’s heard stories, he doesn’t remember enough about them to say for sure how far back they go. Donghyuk and Jiwon never often discussed it in front of others, so Jiho grasps at strands of conversation he barely remembers.   
  
Donghyuk’s surprised Jiho remembers that much. “Yeah, we were together longer than we’ve been apart, actually. We were young kids when that shit happened, I never would have made it on my own without him. Not back then, at least.” He averts his gaze to the medical building, because it’s not common place to admit a vulnerability in this group.   
  
Jiho doesn’t answer right away, almost like he’s thinking about his own situation, and his own friends. Finally he replies, but it’s not quite what Donghyuk expects to hear. “It’s tough to let that kind of shit go. I get it.”   
  
Donghyuk’s surprised to hear an actual note of compassion in Jiho’s voice, and he thinks it’s only because no one else is around to hear it that Jiho’s allowing it to be spoken. Donghyuk is grateful for it, though. “It would be a hell of a lot easier if he wasn’t still here,” he says, “have you talked to Jiyong about that yet? What the fuck is Byunghoon doing with him that’s so important? It pisses me off, having to see him every day. It’s an insult to his memory, to watch him slinking around now in the shadows.” He hopes Jiho doesn’t think he’s being overly sentimental, but Jiho seems to take it exactly the way Donghyuk intends.   
  
“I agree with you,” Jiho replies, “you know, sometimes I forget he’s not with us. Like I’ll look at his empty chair and I’ll have to stop myself from asking you where he is. Or like, I’ll remember shit he’s done, the good stuff and the stupid stuff, and man…” Jiho pauses, but keeps his eyes on the table. Donghyuk is still surprised at the admission, he wouldn’t have expected it out of Jiho. “I fuckin’ miss that Jiwon, sometimes. He had that crazy energy that no one else can replace.”   
  
Donghyuk can’t help but smile at the words, they’re comforting to hear out of Jiho’s mouth. It explains why he’s obsessively hateful to Jiwon’s face these days, because part of that hate is directed inward, at himself, for holding on to memories when he’s supposed to let them go. What kind of an example is he setting for the others, when his own thoughts are so hung up? “Yeah, it’s tough to stop missing someone when no one can take their place.”   
  
Jiho seems to hear something in Donghyuk’s words that get him thinking, and he tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes, his lips pursing as he silently contemplates his thoughts before speaking them out loud. “You think we should bring someone new into the crew? Add a sixth?” Jiho asks for his opinion, and Donghyuk is again surprised that Jiho actually seems to wait for his answer, like he values his opinion. Of course, Donghyuk doesn’t think that the key to moving on from Jiwon is to gravitate to someone new, but if that’s the angle he has to play, he’ll do it.   
  
“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea, let’s bring someone new in. But after this shit goes down, of course. We can’t get distracted before our big moment.”   
  
Jiho’s face crinkles up in a grin before he drains his beer and stands up. “Alright, on that note I’m gonna head over to the fight, watch a few of the newer guys, see if anyone stands out. I’ll see you at dinner.” Donghyuk remains seated and watches as Jiho walks away, grateful to his own quick wits for getting him out of the conversation unscathed. When he can’t see Jiho anymore he turns his sights back to the medical building, and he watches the door for a few seconds before draining his beer and getting up to begin walking over.   
  
He’s kept his eye on the exit ever since he saw Jiwon go in, and so far, he hasn’t come back out. Donghyuk hurries over, an easily fabricated excuse coming to his tongue. His fingers slide around the metal handle and he pulls the heavy glass door open, entering the main room.   
  
Byunghoon is their main doctor and the only medical staff who constantly mans the facility. He’s got a rotating staff of five members who work shifts, though he prefers they stay out of his way unless he needs them. Donghyuk stands in the middle of the reception area, the only person in the area. He heads for the hallway to the right, listening for any sounds that might give away where the doctor’s got Jiwon. He passes two rooms before he hears them talking, and he silently creeps up to the ajar door.   
  
Jiwon is laying on his stomach, his shirt bunched up higher on his back, and Byunghoon is holding some kind of scanner, pressing it to Jiwon’s skin and staring at the picture it produces on the screen. Donghyuk has no idea what he’s seeing. Watching Jiwon up close has him thinking about Jiho’s offer to add a sixth member to their elite crew.   
  
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, the idea of someone that isn’t Jiwon sleeping in the bunk below him. He knows he’ll have a hard time adjusting to it, he’s so used to life with Jiwon, even though it’s been a month without him.   
  
“This is unexpected!” Byunghoon exclaims, and Donghyuk stays hidden behind the door, eavesdropping on the examination. “Your spine is actually showing some regeneration. I didn’t think that would happen, I thought the damage was too severe. I was sure you’d need my compound, but it appears that is not the case.”   
  
Jiwon’s lying face down on the table, his arms pillowing his head, and he perks up at the hopeful tone of the doctor. “That’s good, right?”   
  
“Very good,” Byunghoon replies, “it shows some real promise for my work. Unexpected promise! I’ll need to do more research, figure out what’s triggered the repair. There are too many variables for a one time experiment, but now that I know the possibilities, I can narrow down my testing. But I think a day will come where you won’t actually need my compound anymore. That’s exciting.”   
  
Donghyuk listens intently, getting caught up in the same hope. Jiwon’s back is actually healing itself, that’s good news. Not that he’s supposed to care, really. But he does, even if he’ll try his best to never admit it.   
  
Byunghoon puts the scanner away and Jiwon sits up, fixing his shirt while the doctor makes some notes. Donghyuk stays hidden, he can’t risk Jiwon seeing him here. Not spying on them, at least.   
  
“Now we have to talk about something a little unpleasant, at least for you.”   
  
Jiwon’s body goes tense, his fingers grip the sheet on the bed. Donghyuk is glad he’s facing the other way, it makes it easier to keep watch.   
  
Byunghoon fixes Jiwon with an irritated look, his eyes narrow and face pinched. “How are you sleeping, Jiwon?”   
  
“Fine,” Jiwon replies, not daring to look him in the face, giving him a quick and dismissive answer. Donghyuk knows all the signs when Jiwon doesn’t want to talk about something.   
  
“You’ve stopped taking the sleeping pills, haven’t you?” Byunghoon accuses, and Jiwon shakes his head.   
  
“No, I take whatever you give me,” Jiwon replies sullenly, all the energy of a child who knows he’s about to be reprimanded, but is still refusing to own up to the bad behaviour.   
  
“That’s bullshit, and I’m offended that you think you can lie to me. I monitor your vitals throughout the day, and I map your sleep every night. For the past week, you’ve been waking up periodically, and then sleeping in a tense state and not resting fully.” Byunghoon regards Jiwon with a frown, and Jiwon’s fingers grip the sheet tighter.   
  
“Okay fine, I stopped taking them. I don’t need them anymore, I’m not getting addicted to fucking sleeping pills. I’m fine.”   
  
“You’re not fine,” Byunghoon cuts in, his voice rising slightly, “because you’re not sleeping! You spend half your night in a panic, like you’re in the midst of a constant nightmare.”   
  
“Fuck you!” Jiwon blurts out, glaring at the doctor. “I don’t have fucking nightmares!” Donghyuk expects him to hop up off the bed and start flipping things over. The old Jiwon would have done that, he wouldn’t just sit there and take the insult.  _ Nightmares. _ The idea of Jiwon having nightmares is absurd.   
  
“What are they about?” Byunghoon presses, undeterred by Jiwon’s outburst. “Do you dream about the fight?”   
  
“I just told you I don’t have any fucking nightmares, so fuck off about it!” Jiwon snaps back. “Can I fucking go? I don’t have time for this shit.”   
  
“Do you dream about him? About what he did to you?” Byunghoon asks, and Donghyuk himself is tempted to barge into the room and tell him to shut up. “Do you dream about the cat?”   
  
Jiwon’s stiff composure gives way to shivers, and he shakes his head quickly, but can’t bring himself to respond in words. Byunghoon’s lips curve up in a grin. “I’m not surprised it’s the cat. That must have been very traumatic for you, lying there, helpless, cradled in death’s embrace. And then he shoves a stiff, dead, cat in between your teeth and lights it on fire. That was quite cold, really. I’m curious, what happens in your dream? Do you just relive the moment?”   
  
Donghyuk feels angry on Jiwon’s behalf and waits for him to get up and slam his fist into the doctor’s face. Instead Jiwon shakes even more, and Donghyuk can hear the way his breathing becomes laboured. And then, suddenly, Jiwon replies.   
  
“I can’t breathe,” he says with a shaky breath, his head cast down, gaze on the floor, “I can taste it.”   
  
“The cat?”   
  
“The fire. I can feel the hair on my tongue, I feel like I’m swallowing death.”   
  
Donghyuk listens in surprise, suddenly overcome with confusion. This is not the Jiwon he knows. He sounds like some broken man, some weak, pathetic loser. It’s not his Jiwon. His Jiwon doesn’t have fucking nightmares, he never had them as a child after their parents were murdered. He wouldn’t be having them now, over some stupid fucking cat.   
  
“And that’s why you need the sleeping pills. If you’re too weak mentally to overcome this on your own, then as your doctor, I need to compensate with medication so your body can heal faster. It can’t do that if you’re waking yourself up over nightmares about a dead cat.” Byunghoon’s tone is heavy with disapproval. “It’s been a month, Jiwon. An entire month, and you still think about it? If you want anyone to take you seriously again, then you need to get over it. Worse things have happened to other people, and they don’t fall apart the way you’ve let yourself fall apart.”   
  
There’s silence in the room and Donghyuk wishes he hadn’t heard any of that. He agrees with Byunghoon—he’s embarrassed for Jiwon, feels ashamed of his struggles. At his age, with his experience, having nightmares every fucking night? He should be stronger. Donghyuk can’t accept how weak he’s become. He doesn’t want Jiho and the other to be proven right. He doesn’t want to hear about Jiwon’s weakened mental state. He needs to be strong.   
  
“Well, we’re done for today, but don’t leave just yet, there’s something we need to discuss.” Donghyuk watches as the doctor makes notes in his computer program and Jiwon sits on the edge of the bed, head still bowed. What should he do? Should he just barge into the room like he’d planned, ignoring Jiwon and asking the doctor for the tranquilizer he wants to take on their mission? Or should he actually make eye contact with Jiwon, away from the prying eyes of the others? Can he risk it? Now that he’s finally starting to gain Jiho’s trust after letting it slip?   
  
Byunghoon finishes with his notes and turns his attention back on Jiwon. “You’re doing well on your exercises, Jiwon, I want to commend you for that. I can see the definition coming back, especially with your legs. I can see you’re working hard. I want you to start on some more intense cardio, test your lungs. You might face some difficulty at first, but power through it. I’ll upload the exercises to your tablet.”   
  
Donghyuk can’t listen any longer, so he stands up and pushes the door open, doing his best to look like he hasn’t been standing outside listening in. “Sorry for interrupting but I need something from you,” he states, clearly not sorry from his tone of voice. He doesn’t look at Jiwon, his eyes are glued to Byunghoon. He hadn’t been sure if he’d acknowledge Jiwon or not, but he’s too annoyed by the weak energy to be able to meet his eyes.   
  
“Dong!” Jiwon blurts out, standing up and turning to face him. He’s surprised to see him. They haven’t been so close physically in weeks, especially not away from the overbearing presence of Jiho. But Donghyuk doesn’t look at him, he stands and acts like he’s alone with the doctor. It feels like a kick in the gut, to have him so near, but yet not near enough.   
  
Byunghoon gives it a few seconds, wondering how long Donghyuk was waiting in the hall before barging in. He wonders if the visit was timed on purpose? “What do you need, Donghyuk? I’m busy with a checkup.”   
  
Donghyuk looks at him with narrowed eyes and frowning lips, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m doing a job for Jiyong soon,” he says, dropping the bare minimum, “I need your strongest tranq.”   
  
“What’s the job?” Byunghoon asks, even though he knows that Donghyuk won’t say anything in front of Jiwon. He’s more curious if Jiwon will ask, or if he’ll flee the room. They don’t talk about Jiwon’s treatment by the other members of the group, not since those first few days. But Byunghoon knows about the mistreatment, knows about the verbal abuse and harassment.   
  
“Can’t say, if you want to know you’ll have to ask Jiyong. But I need a tranq, extra strong in case the target’s on something. You got anything like that? Fast acting, has to last a few hours.” Donghyuk can feel the weight of Jiwon’s staring eyes and has to fight the magnetic pull. He wants to look at him, wants to see the person who was taken from him a month ago. But he knows that if he turns his head, that’s not who he’ll see. Instead he’ll look on a pale shadow, an imitation.   
  
Byunghoon doesn’t consider the request to be too out of the ordinary. “I can load something up for you. Would you like it in a syringe with a plunger, or do you expect more of a struggle? I can lace a dart. Do you just want the one?”   
  
Donghyuk nods. “Yeah, just one. The dart, cause there might be a fight.”   
  
“Alright, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll rig something up for you right now?” Byunghoon suggests, not because he wants to do it immediately, but because he’s amused at the tension between the two of them. Jiwon hasn’t moved and Donghyuk is doing his damnedest to pretend that he isn’t there. Byunghoon turns away from them and heads over to the medical cabinet in the corner, the one where he stores all of the hardest drugs. He’s outfitted it with a fingerprint scanner, a retina scanner, three typed passwords, and a physical key.   
  
He doesn’t trust anyone in a compound full of degenerate criminals.    
  
The longer Jiwon stands there with no acknowledgement from Donghyuk, the angrier it makes him. So what, Donghyuk is too good to even look at him now? Running a special job for Jiyong, like some little fucking lap dog? He moves away from the bed and walks closer to him. Unbidden memories pop up as he stands behind him, his body desperate to follow through with the pull of muscle memory. If this were another time he’d greet Donghyuk by kneeing him in the back, or strong arming him into a choke hold. Or, if he was feeling nice, he’d settle for just flicking his ear.   
  
But now the closer he gets the more confused his feelings become. He’s got two warring paths of action calling his name: he wants to kick out his knees and slam his face into the wall, wants to break his nose and knock his teeth out. But he also wants to sink to his knees and beg Donghyuk to talk to him, wants to vault over the hurdle that’s grown in between them. He misses him. Jiwon isn’t used to missing people. He’s not used to liking anyone enough to miss them and then lose them. Especially not when they’re standing right in front of him.   
  
So he keeps his place at Donghyuk’s side, right up close to him, blocking his route out. Donghyuk will have to acknowledge him if he’s standing this close. There’s no room for him to turn away. Even if all he does is shove him aside, Jiwon feels like it’ll be a small victory, because it’ll be  _ something. _ Something more than watching Donghyuk sneer at him from afar, under Jiho’s thumb. But Donghyuk just stands there, and doesn’t say anything.   
  
Jiwon can’t stay quiet. “What are you doing for Jiyong?” Asking about a job that Donghyuk can’t actually talk about is by far the safest topic of discussion for him to broach.   
  
“I can’t talk about it,” Donghyuk answers, and it’s the victory Jiwon is so desperate for. Donghyuk acknowledged him, actually spoke to him, and didn’t say anything vicious.   
  
“You working it with the others?” Jiwon asks, because he can’t stop talking now that Donghyuk’s answered him. He’s desperate for more interaction.   
  
“Yep,” Donghyuk answers, “our crew only.” He wonders what Jiwon’s role would have been were he able to join them? Would he have demanded the shot? Or would he rather be on the ground, causing mayhem?   
  
“Cool,” Jiwon replies, and he pinches his arms to keep himself from touching Donghyuk. “You gonna be fighting any time soon?”   
  
Donghyuk closes his eyes briefly and digs his fingers into his forearms. Why won’t Jiwon just shut up? Doesn’t he get how difficult this is? Doesn’t he see how impossible it is for them to do this? Jiwon shouldn’t feel so comfortable talking to him, he should be afraid to talk to him! He should be wary of Donghyuk’s capability for cruelty, he should worry about him telling Jiho about this and inciting a fresh round of harassment.   
  
“Not that I know of.” Donghyuk replies, because as angry as this game makes him, he can’t stop it either. It feels good to hear Jiwon’s voice and not have to pretend like it makes him sick. If he doesn’t look at him, he can pretend like nothing is wrong, like Jiwon is still his old self and they’re having a regular conversation. He doesn’t have the face the reality of what Jiwon has become.   
  
“Any of the others fighting soon?” Jiwon asks, clinging to neutral questions.   
  
“You’re not really having nightmares, are you?” Donghyuk blurts out, the question launching into the space between them, Donghyuk powerless to stop himself from asking it. He finally turns to look at Jiwon, he stares at the disfigured face in front of him. His left cheek never healed properly, his nose didn’t get set properly after the break. Like he’s eternally broken. It makes Donghyuk want to punch him, just to break him further.   
  
Jiwon’s first instinct is to grab Donghyuk by the throat and slam him into the wall for daring to ask, but he barely manages to hold himself back. Maybe this is what he needs to get over the whole situation. Maybe he just needs to be shamed for it by the only person who actually matters to him. “Of course not.”   
  
Donghyuk eyes him up and down, like he’s looking for some sign that Jiwon’s lying to his face. “You better not be. Kids have nightmares, not adults. It’s bad enough what happened to you, don’t be a bitch about it now.”   
  
Jiwon lowers his eyes and nods, shame coursing through his veins and making him sweat. “I’m not a  bitch.”   
  
Donghyuk doesn’t say anything to that, he just stands and waits until the silence is too much. Then he blurts out the first thing he can think of. “Jiho said he’s gonna add someone new to our crew so we’re six again.” He’s not sure why he says it. To hurt Jiwon? Or to prepare him for that day, so he knows in advance?   
  
Regardless of intent, it feels like someone has shoved a spike right through his stomach when he hears Donghyuk say it. “Is he?” His eyes remain fixed on Donghyuk and he waits for an answer, and the hurt only grows in intensity. He feels sick at the idea of someone else taking his place.   
  
“He is,” Donghyuk replies, lowering his gaze from Jiwon’s face, “I don’t know who, but he thinks we need to be six again. I agree with him.” He doesn’t agree with him—or well, he doesn’t agree that they need to bring in someone new to make it six. But they can’t bring someone back, either, so they’re stuck.   
  
“Do you?” Jiwon asks, bitterness creeping into his tone. He knows he’s being a hypocrite. He’d be saying the same damn thing if their positions were reversed, he’d be trying to sever ties with Donghyuk, hoping that he doesn’t get caught in the downward spiral. But Donghyuk’s always been a bit more sentimental that he’s been. It’s not surprising that he’s been holding out hope for some kind of reunion.   
  
“Yeah.” Donghyuk forces himself to look Jiwon in the face again, and when he does he’s surprised at the look of anger in his gaze. It makes him feel good. “Jiho actually misses you, you know?” The admission slips out, teased out by the familiarity of Jiwon’s anger. “Well, he misses the old you.”   
  
“I’m still here,” Jiwon replies, hands clenched into fists that hang in waiting at his sides, “I’m still that guy. I just lost one fucking match, nothing changed.”   
  
Donghyuk’s gaze slides down to those fists, and he stares at them before meeting his eyes again. “Are you sure nothing has changed?”   
  
Jiwon bites his cheek to keep his temper in check. Okay. Maybe something has changed. But it’s temporary! His brain is just confused at the sudden shift, at the uprooting of everything in his life. It’ll go back to normal after some time. “I’m still the same guy. I still want to fight and kick ass, I still want to walk down the street and make people quiver in fear when they see me. I just have to wait until this stupid medical shit clears up. That’s not my fault.”   
  
“It is your fault, though.” Donghyuk refutes the excuse.   
  
Jiwon knows it’s true, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. “Fine. I wasn’t ready for him. Is that what you want me to say? No one would have been ready for him, you saw the shit he did in the pit. Not a single one of us, Jiyong included, could have fought against that.”   
  
Donghyuk doesn’t reply, not even to warn Jiwon about mentioning Jiyong. But he does think about it. There’s something there in Jiwon’s words, an accusation that rings true. No one would have been ready. Was Jiwon a sacrifice, then? Was he the guy that Jiyong was most prepared to lose? If he’d won his fight, Jiyong could still control him. But if he lost, he would be the easiest one of them for Jiyong to part with. He might have had the best record, but Jiwon has always been more of a loose cannon than Jiyong wants him to be.   
  
It makes him wonder about Jiyong’s motives for killing Germanicus. Is he trying to set himself up to fight Caligula, hoping to take him down while he’s distracted over the death of his father? Is that what he’s after? Or does he just want the chaos, does he want to topple the group from the top down? It’s hard to tell with Jiyong. Everything about him is always a mystery.   
  
“I’m ready with your tranquilizer,” Byunghoon calls out, and Donghyuk quickly moves away from Jiwon, glad for the reprieve. Being so close to him and hearing his voice again has just made everything tougher. The conversation is sure to plague him for some time, it’ll drive him crazy. Maybe they really do need that sixth guy, just as a distraction.   
  
“Listen up,” Byunghoon calls for his attention, “what I am about to give you is a very serious drug. I wouldn’t even think about giving this to anyone else, but I’ll give it to you because I know that you’re responsible. So don’t fuck around with this. You prove me right about you.”   
  
Donghyuk stands in front of him and beams with pride at the doctor’s words. Usually being heralded as someone responsible isn’t a good thing in their group, it’s a cause for derision. But there’s something good about their doctor making the observation.   
  
Byunghoon holds up a small dart in his hand, and Donghyuk notices that he’s wearing gloves. “This is called etorphine,” he explains, “this is a tranquilizer used on big game animals, like the rhinoceros or the elephant. This is lethal to humans in high doses. I’ve loaded the dart with a smaller dose, so your target should be fine. But not everyone reacts the same to medication, so be careful.”   
  
Donghyuk eyes the small little dart, noting the gloves covering the doctor’s hands.   
  
“You can stick it anywhere, as long as you get it deep in the skin. Try not to push it through clothing, you’ll wipe some of the residual off. It’ll get into the bloodstream quickly, and while it might take a few minutes to put your target out fully, it’ll make them sluggish very quickly.” He holds the dart out, but yanks it back when Donghyuk reaches for it. “On second thought, I’ll hold on to it until you go on your mission. Just to make sure that no one else gets their hands on it. Do not tell anyone you have this, and wear gloves when you handle it. Even skin contact is enough to do some damage if you’re not careful. Am I understood?”   
  
Donghyuk nods, excited by the seriousness of the lecture. Byunghoon is actually trusting him with some high level drug. It’s kind of exciting!   
  
“I’m going to need it next Saturday,” Donghyuk tells him, and he knows that he shouldn’t say it in front of Jiwon, but he can’t help himself.   
  
Byunghoon nods and returns it to his locked medical cabinet. “Alright then. Come by on Saturday and you can take it with you.”   
  


* * *

  
  
Ever since his forced recruitment into the Death Brigade, school hasn’t been the same for Jung Chanwoo. Prior to the commitment he’d always been a little on the outside—not bullied or made fun of, but never the centre of attention. He was the kind of student who teachers loved: always had his work done well and done on time, always had something to contribute to the conversation in class. But he wasn’t some ass-kissing nerd who’d get teased for sucking up. When he walked the halls he’d get a curt acknowledgement from his classmates at best, and just ignored at worst. It wasn’t an exciting school experience, but it was comfortable.   
  
That life has been left behind in the shadows, and now that he’s part of something big, his status has sky-rocketed. Now when he walks the halls everyone greets him like an old friend, eager to forge some kind of connection. His teachers were wary at first, he could read the silent disapproval in their cold shoulder treatment. But he’s proven himself to every one of them: he still gets his work done, still answers questions in classroom discussion. Just because he’s a part of the Death Brigade now, that doesn’t mean his grades have to suffer for it.   
  
His favourite teachers have always understood his predicament, and they recognize the unintentional benefits that come from such a connection. Chanwoo is gifted with technical electronics, and that’s not a field easy to break into for someone who comes from a poor family. His parents used to have decent money, but a few bad investments and lost business resulted in a steep financial disaster three years ago they’ve been fighting to dig themselves out of. If it hadn’t been for his own skills, he knows that there’s a good chance that his father probably would have wound up killed by now.   
  
Instead the Death Brigade’s  _ community enforcers _ struck a deal with his parents.  _ Give us your son, and we’ll consider his work as repayment of your debt. He’ll get the training and hands-on experience he needs to succeed in his career, he’ll become a community icon for other kids. He won’t be with us forever, we’ll let him go in a few years after he’s done enough work for us. _   
  
Chanwoo knows it’s all bullshit. The debt his parents owe will never be repaid, not as long as he’s useful to the Death Brigade. He’ll be stuck in service for the rest of his life, unless he finds some way to get himself out of it.   
  
But he knows that there isn’t really anything he can do about it. Either he does the work and he upholds the banner, or he risks his father’s failing business getting fire-bombed one day. They dangle his own future in front of his eyes, the carrot on a stick taunting the work horse, and he runs forward all the while knowing that the red dot of a sniper rifle is aimed at the back of his head, waiting for him to put one foot out of line. Once you’re in with the Death Brigade, there’s no getting out.   
  
So while it’s somewhat nice to have constant recognition at school now, offered friendships at every turn, it’s tainted with the aftertaste of falsehood. It’s like meat that’s been cooked too long—you can still eat it, and it still gets the job done, but you don’t really enjoy it.   
  
He’s spent the past hour after classes ended working on a robot with the rest of the robotics team in preparation for an upcoming tournament. It’s minor stuff compared to what he gets to work with outside of school, but that’s part of the charm. He enjoys the process of creating something out of nothing, instead of just polishing something that’s already shining.   
  
He’d spend all night here if he could, but he’s got a strict time schedule during the evening to work at the compound with the engineering team. So he finishes soldering a circuit and packs his stuff up, saying his goodbyes to his teammates. He’s not the only one leaving, though, and he’s a little surprised, but also a little happy, when his closest friend packs up and comes with him.   
  
He’s been friends with Moon Bin for as long as he can remember, but they officially became friends during their first year at school, when they learned that they shared a birthday. They used to say they were twins, secretly parted at birth due to some doctor’s mistake. It used to be that they’d spend almost every night together, either working on projects or playing video games. But now he just doesn’t have the time.   
  
“If I ask you nicely, will you tell me what they have you working on every night?” Bin teasingly asks him, because he knows that Chanwoo’s answer will always be no.   
  
Chanwoo grins and shakes his head. “Nothing too exciting,” he replies, stuffing his hands into his pockets so Bin doesn’t see him twisting his fingers with anxious tension. He wants to spill everything to Bin, but doing so would only endanger both of them. “I’m trying to create a training robot for the fighters to use.” It’s a lie, but he’s tired of saying nothing, so maybe if he gives him something false it’ll make things easier.   
  
“I know you’re not,” Bin replies, “but all the same I appreciate you trying to come up with some lie to tell me instead of nothing.” They walk in silence for a moment, a weird kind of tension in between them, something awkward that’s completely foreign to their friendship. “It’s just hard to think about, the fact that you aren’t willing to trust me, your best friend, with your secrets.”   
  
Chanwoo should have seen this coming eventually. There’s only so long you can go on giving someone nothing before they start to beg for crumbs. “You know it’s not because I don’t trust you.”   
  
“Then why not? It’s not like they’ll know you’ve told me anything,” Bin replies, his fingers gripping the straps of his backpack, “or do they have you bugged?”   
  
“I’m not bugged,” Chanwoo replies, but then he realizes that he may actually be. It’s been a long time since he’s checked himself or his apartment for bugs.   
  
“Then what is it? Don’t you want to talk to me about what you’re doing? It must be some cool stuff, right?”   
  
Chanwoo shakes his head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know about the stuff I’m working on.”   
  
“Maybe I do,” Bin answers, “and maybe I don’t get why you’re so reluctant to talk about it. Aren’t you proud to be doing work for them?”   
  
Chanwoo hates the way that everyone seems to think that he should be grateful to the Death Brigade for taking him in, like he owes them something. He thought Bin understood that by now, but maybe that’s his own fault for not being completely honest with him about the whole situation. He thought that Bin knew him well enough to understand. But it’s hard to explain his feelings to someone who idolizes the same people that he demonizes. “It’s not what you think it is, trust me.”   
  
“You keep saying that, like you’re being forced to work on things against your will,” Bin accuses, and it makes Chanwoo nervous, “like you’d rather spend your time building some shitty robot with cheap parts.”   
  
Chanwoo has to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out that he  _ would _ rather spend his time building a shitty robot with cheap parts, because he’d be doing it for himself. But he has to be careful about how he talks about all of it. “Listen, you know I was never really into fighting,” he says, “at least not with people. It scares me. I’d rather get involved in robot fighting, at least then no one dies.”   
  
Bin sighs and gives him a sympathetic look. “I know, and you know I prefer the robots too. But you’re in with the biggest group out there, at least the kind who look out for guys like you and me. We’re all struggling here, and now you’ve got this chance to do something really cool, and it might not be ideal for you, but it’s something. And it’s way more than the rest of us have.”   
  
Chanwoo meets his gaze and sees the one thing there he’s always been afraid to see—jealousy. “You almost sound like you wish you could join.”   
  
Bin looks away from him. “Maybe I do. I know they’re dangerous, but what else do I have? I work my ass off to keep my grades up, hoping I can snag a scholarship into a college, but you know there are barely any of those left. I have to choose between trying to reach for something barely attainable, and getting a job to help feed my family. You won’t have to go through that. You probably get to play with all sorts of cool shit that I’ll never get my hands on.”   
  
Chanwoo doesn’t answer. He understands where Bin’s coming from, but at the same time he wants to tell him the ugly reality: that he lives every day in fear. He wants to tell Bin about what’s happened to Woosung, his mentor when he’s first been recruited. Ever since Jiwon’s loss, Woosung’s whole purpose in the group has changed. He used to be a top member of the engineering team, someone who was treated with respect.   
  
Now he’s kept locked up in a cell in their vehicle bay, just left to lie there and suffer. Sometimes they test new weapons on him, sometimes they’ll let the fighters use him as a sparring dummy. He’s already lost three fingers from some kind of weapon test. He doesn’t know the details and he’s never going to ask. But part of his daily duties include bringing Woosung his dinner. He’s sure they make him do it to drive home the all important creed of the group:   
  
Kill or be killed, and if you do neither, then you’ll be tortured.   
  
Chanwoo would sooner shoot Bin himself than introduce him to that kind of life. He’d never forgive himself.   
  
They walk another block, approaching the intersection that divides their lives now. To the east is their neighbourhood, a six minute walk to their apartment building. Chanwoo’s father’s office is to the east, as is Bin’s family’s restaurant. To the west is the Death Brigade compound, where Chanwoo walks freely, but where Bin would walk in fear. They pause at the intersection, and Chanwoo can feel the growing interest from Bin as he looks over to the west. Chanwoo’s eyes look to the east, wishing he could go in that direction, that he could go home and work on a history paper he’s got due tomorrow. He hasn’t had the time to finish it yet, and he doubts he’ll get it done in time.   
  
But his history teacher will grant him an extension if he asks for one, because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll have to spend the next week looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to come and explain to him how it would be in his best interests to let Chanwoo turn the paper in late. Not that he’d ever ask for that, but he could, and it would happen.   
  
If he skips out on his Death Brigade work for school, though… Well. No one will be there to save him from their wrath. Nothing can be more important than the group.   
  
“Hey, isn’t that one of your fighters?” Bin asks, eyes on the opposite street corner.   
  
Chanwoo looks across the road and sure enough there’s Donghyuk, leaning against the light post, staring at them. Like he’s waiting for him. His thoughts run back to the question of earlier—is he bugged? Do they know what he talks to his friends about? Are they concerned about what he’s saying? Why else would Donghyuk be waiting for him?   
  
“Yeah, that’s Donghyuk,” he replies, forgoing his fighter name. Despite being one of the top ranked fighters in the group, Chanwoo is on a first name basis with him due to his time spent shadowing Woosung, who worked with both Jiwon and Donghyuk.   
  
“Looks like he’s waiting for someone,” Bin says, but Chanwoo doesn’t rise to the question. If Donghyuk is waiting for him, it can only mean bad news. He’s not letting Bin’s curiosity get him involved.   
  
“Well, I gotta go.” Chanwoo looks at Bin, worried about letting Donghyuk see them together.   
  
“Yeah, okay.” Bin looks back at him with pleading eyes, like he wants to make the fighter’s acquaintance.   
  
“You finish that history paper for tomorrow?” Chanwoo asks, desperate not to end the conversation on the Death Brigade. He doesn’t want it to have more interference in his life than it already has.   
  
“Yeah, I finished it yesterday. You wanna copy it?” Bin asks, and Chanwoo shakes his head. Before the Death Brigade, either of them would have turned their noses up at the idea of letting anyone copy their homework. But Bin knows that he doesn’t always have time to finish his schoolwork. As Chanwoo’s needs change, so too do Bin’s.   
  
“Nah, I’m almost done with mine, but thanks.” Chanwoo smiles at him one last time before backing away. “See you tomorrow!” He turns his back and crosses the street, doesn’t look over his shoulder. He can feel Bin’s eyes on him as he approaches Donghyuk, knows his best friend is watching them. Know that Donghyuk sees him watching.   
  
He steps onto the sidewalk in front of Donghyuk and raises his eyes to meet the fighter’s own steely gaze. Donghyuk doesn’t move for a few seconds, just remains standing with his arms crossed, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s waiting for some kind of sign. But then he pushes away from the post.   
  
“Walk with me,” Donghyuk tells him, like he’s giving him a direct command. Chanwoo falls into step beside him, nerves creeping up his throat. What does Donghyuk want with him? What is this all about?   
  
“Do you need me for something?” Chanwoo asks, trying to make it seem like he’s not absolutely terrified right now.   
  
Donghyuk looks at him and flashes him a grin. “Right to business, no small talk,” Donghyuk remarks, and Chanwoo can’t tell if he’s offended or amused. “I need you to do something for me.”   
  
Chanwoo hadn’t expected that as an answer. Donghyuk needs something from him? “What is it?” He asks, curious now about why Donghyuk waited for him on his way from school. Like he doesn’t want to ask for this favor behind the gate of the compound. Why is he making such a secretive request?   
  
“I need you to come with me on Saturday night, next weekend,” Donghyuk replies, which throws Chanwoo for a confused loop. “We’ve got this thing going on, and I need your help to make part of it happen.”   
  
Chanwoo frowns at the request. Next Saturday is the school robotics competition. He’s supposed to go, he’s part of the team, the other guys are counting on him. “What time on Saturday?”   
  
“Why, do you have plans?” Donghyuk asks, narrowed eyes fixing on Chanwoo’s face. Chanwoo shakes his head quickly, because he knows what the question means. He’s not allowed to have plans that interfere with the group. He’s not allowed to have a life that could get in the way of his work. He has to be accessible whenever they need him.   
  
“No, just curious.” Maybe if he’s lucky Donghyuk will be honest with him, and he’ll be able to go to both events. But Donghyuk might penalize him for asking and make him show up early, just to waste his time.   
  
Donghyuk looks back at the surrounding scenery, not watching Chanwoo intently anymore. He’s really scanning the area, looking for anyone out of place, looking for anyone who would be foolish enough to look him in the eyes. When he finds no one to meet the description, he talks. “I need you to black out a wifi network for about half an hour, give or take. No signals going out of any kind. Can you do that?”   
  
Chanwoo is taken completely by surprise. Of course he can do that! Robotics might be his passion, but he’d gone through a hacker phase three years ago, so he’s well versed on getting past security measures and taking down networks. “Of course I can do that. How big of a job is it?”   
  
Donghyuk shrugs. “I don’t know, but it needs to cover a few blocks.”   
  
“Wait, do you want me to take down a whole network, or just a localized area?” Chanwoo asks, because he’d have to tackle those two jobs in very different ways. Taking out a network is a little more straight forward, but targeting a specific area regardless of network would require more work, he’d have to build something specifically for it. It would be far more interesting to him if he gets to toy with the second option.   
  
“I don’t know, you’re the expert. But we’re going to be in this certain area, and something’s going to happen, and you have to make it so no one in that area can talk to anyone outside that area. Do you understand?” Donghyuk elaborates, and Chanwoo nods eagerly.   
  
“Yeah I get it. I can do that for sure! Where will it be? And what’s the time frame? Like do you want me to have it running right away, or is there like a specific time?”   
  
Donghyuk shrugs, like the questions get on his nerves. “We’ll be there in place hours before, so you just have to make it work the second you’re told to, and then keep it up for about half an hour, probably. I want everything down, data and phone lines.”   
  
“I get it,” Chanwoo replies, deciding to ignore all thoughts about what the reason would be for their black out. “You want a dead zone, as soon as someone crosses into it everything goes out. I can make that happen.”   
  
“Excellent,” Donghyuk says, allowing himself a small smile. “Start working on it immediately and let me know when you’re sure it’ll work. And you’ll have to explain it to me in simple terms.”   
  
Chanwoo nods, wondering what he needs to explain it. It’s almost like Donghyuk wants to explain it to someone else. Jiyong, maybe? Is this some special task for their leader? It’s a little nerve wracking if he thinks about it too much. Hopefully he can just focus on what needs to be done and leave it at that.   
  
“I need details in three days, okay? And don’t tell anyone about this, not even the other engineers. The less people who know about this, the better. Am I understood?” Donghyuk stops in his tracks and grabs his arm, and Chanwoo shrinks back just slightly at the intense eyes.   
  
“Understood. I’ll start working on it tonight and let you know as soon as I’ve got something. This isn’t anything that any of the other engineers will think is weird, so I won’t attract any attention working on it.” That much is true, and even if they do ask, well. He’ll just say he’s trying to devise a way for them to travel around undetected by police security drones. Everyone will think he’s just being proactive.   
  
Donghyuk lets him go. “Good, that’s a smart answer. If this goes down properly, I’ll make sure the right people know that you were responsible for your part. If it goes wrong, I won’t tell anyone about your involvement, not unless you fuck it up. But you can’t talk about it either, to anyone. I don’t want anyone to know that you’ll be there.”   
  
Chanwoo nods, curious about the details. It almost sounds like Donghyuk’s trying to hide something from everyone. Chanwoo isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. And just who are the  _ right people _ Donghyuk will be talking to? He grabs Donghyuk’s outstretched hand and shakes it, trying not to look like he’s thinking too much about it. Donghyuk could always ask someone else, and that would count as a strike against him.   
  
Donghyuk doesn’t say goodbye before leaving, he just walks away in silence, and Chanwoo watches him go. He knows he can make it happen, he looks forward to doing it, actually. But the secrecy has him concerned. It’s weird that Donghyuk has forbidden him from even talking to the other engineers about it. Who is he trying to hide information from?   
  
But he can’t afford to put too much thought into it. He’s agreed to do it, and backing out would only harm him. All he needs to focus on is getting it figured out and making it happen. He’ll leave the other details to Donghyuk.   
  


* * *

  
Constant pacing is what greets those inside The Legion’s dressing room on Saturday night: constant pacing and the silent flutter of golden silk as it trails behind the man doing the pacing. Contrary to what anyone would assume, the pacing is all physical and not mental. His thoughts are composed and focused, not as nervous as he thought he’d be, and definitely not nervous enough to force him into constant anxious motion. It’s just a surplus of energy and adrenaline that make it hard to sit still.   
  
Even so Junhoe is still aware of how it makes him look, especially in comparison to Hanbin.   
  
Hanbin sits still on the couch, an exact replica of how he sat a month ago when he fought for the first time. Junhoe had been the nervous one that night, though he’d tried to hide it. Of course the nerves had been for nothing, because Hanbin had thoroughly decimated his opponent. Now it’s Junhoe’s turn to do the same, and he’s been anticipating this day for years, it’s been his foremost dream ever since his parents were murdered. He wants to prove himself to everyone—to himself, to the world, to the people responsible for the deaths.   
  
But more than anyone else he’s desperate to prove himself to his adopted parents. They’ve been good to him, have treated him better than they had to, and he’s got no complaints. He knows he’s never quite measured up to Hanbin, no matter how hard he tries. Hanbin always tells him to stop trying, but it’s a vicious circle that Hanbin could never understand.   
  
Hanbin has his own parents, and they’ve always put him on a pedestal, and Hanbin has always proven himself to belong at such heights. But Junhoe has never felt the same way. When his parents were still alive things were different, they were out of the spotlight, standing in the shadows, so the same grueling expectations were not put directly upon them. His family’s history with the Kim family has always been that of a supporting role. But living with them has pushed him beyond his initial expectations, and it’s always made him a little self conscious.   
  
It’s all the more desperate now after Hanbin’s debut. Junhoe is there to see first hand the way that Jeongju has loosened up around his son, he sees the looks of pride that Jeongju is no longer forced to hide. He was always strict with them as they were growing up, but he’s friendly with Hanbin now. And only Hanbin.   
  
Junhoe sees it and wants it for himself, needs to be treated the same way. He wants to know that someone looks on him with pride, someone that he himself looks up to. Having fans will be nice, but the love of strangers is nothing compared to the love of someone who you admire. He wants that pride to mean something, wants it to come with a difficult history, wants it to be the fruit of long years of labour.   
  
Maybe he’ll have it, if tonight goes accordingly. Maybe he’ll finally be able to relax around them, to feel like he’s made them proud. There’s a good chance of it after all, because both of them are here. At first he’d prepared himself that only Hanbin would accompany him tonight, not daring to expect the others on his first untested match. But then Jeongju had announced that he would come, and Junhoe had been over the moon. He might be their adopted son, but that doesn’t mean they have to treat him the same way they treat Hanbin.   
  
His biggest surprise came an hour ago, when they boarded the SUV to come to the venue. They were joined by Jisoo and Hanbyul, who Junhoe had not expected to see. This was only Hanbyul’s second time attending a fight, and Junhoe felt touched that she was being allowed to come to his. But the biggest surprise was waiting inside the SUV.   
  
She was already inside the SUV, Kim Ji Ah, having come straight from a political correspondent's dinner event. She smiled at him and patted the seat next to her, and he’s heeded her invitation.   
  
She’s a true politician, a master of deception, and he’s never been sure of her opinion of him. But tonight she’s met him with nothing other than a kind smile and warm eyes, and Junhoe can feel himself falling for it. He knows he’s buying into the picture, he’s letting himself believe that she actually cares about him. Of course it can all change in an instant, especially if he loses. He doesn’t think he will, he’s confident in his ability to fight and win. But it’s a bizarre thing to suddenly realize that while he doesn’t fear death, and he doesn’t fear losing, he does fear disappointing them.   
  
Living with the knowledge that he’s let down the most important people in his life is a far greater force of inspiration than simply getting to live. He’s going to fight and win tonight in order to prove to them that their trust in him is not misplaced. It’s deserved, and they’ll be proud of him. He allows himself to believe that they’ve all come tonight out of a desire to share in his victory.   
  
“Come sit, your pacing is driving me insane.”   
  
The words are harsh but Jeongju says them with a smile, and Junhoe grins sheepishly at him before doing as he’s told and sitting on the couch across from him. He’s in the same dressing room Hanbin had occupied before his fight, and Junhoe takes pride in that link. He can feel the residual energy. It’s a nice link between them.   
  
“Let’s review some important things,” Jeongju begins, and Junhoe listens attentively. “You need to watch his use of weapons, think about all of the unconventional choices he’s made during his more recent matches.”   
  
“I remember,” Junhoe replies, “the surgical saw from last match? I’m still surprised they were allowed to request it as an official weapon.”   
  
“We’ve trained for those situations,” Hanbin speaks up, “you know what to do.”   
  
Junhoe grins at him. “If he goes for it, or something similar, I’ll grab a high voltage prod and fry the motor.” He and Hanbin have trained for a lot of different scenarios with their main fighting trainer, coming up with multiple creative ways to disarm potential problems.   
  
“I don’t know why they refuse to upgrade their selection of weapons,” Jeongju remarks with an irritated scowl, “it’s equally lazy and insulting.”   
  
Junhoe’s fighting a member of the Organ Grinders, a group comprised of elite street fighters. They’re similar in style to the Death Brigade, not so focused on rigorous physical training, relying more on unique techniques. The main difference between the factions is that the Organ Grinders are not a criminal gang. Instead they actually foster many ties to non-profit organizations in lower income neighbourhoods, donating portions of their proceeds to hospital funds and scholarships for at risk members of their community. Part of it is actual concern for their fellow citizens, but part of it is also public image. Knowing that they do good for their community will sway non-fans to their side during neutral matches.   
  
His opponent tonight is a former medical student, a PhD candidate who left the field to focus on his fighting career. His intimate knowledge of the body does not intimidate Junhoe. Sure, knowing where the hit to do the most damage will help. But if you don’t know how to hit, then it’s pointless knowledge.   
  
Besides, Junhoe’s spent his entire life training with Hanbin. In his opinion, despite only one official match so far, Junhoe thinks that Hanbin is probably the best technical fighter in the league. He’d even put his money on Hanbin if he ever had to take his own father on in a match, and many fans consider Jeongju to be the best fighter in the league. So after training with Hanbin and keeping up with him, Junhoe is confident in his ability to best anyone else.   
  
“Make sure you stay aware of anything in his hands,” Hanbin advises, and Junhoe thinks back to the most recent match he’s seen his opponent fight in.   
  
“Yeah, I remember last month, when he threw acid in that guy’s face. That was disappointing to watch, actually. It was a cheap tactic in such a high profile fight.” He pauses and looks at Hanbin. “Maybe I should give him a taste of his own medicine, I’m sure they’ve probably arranged to put some up around the perimeter.”   
  
“Don’t you dare cheapen yourself like that,” Jeongju replies, “You have your own sound tactics and skills, don’t stoop to his level during the fight. You save any lesson teaching for when you win, make a statement out of it.” Jeongju gives him a stern look as he says it, and Junhoe understands the meaning behind the words.  _ Make a statement. _ Hearing that means that Jeongju is confident in his ability to win. It means that he expects victory, because he’s always careful with his words. He said  _ when you win, _ not  _ if _ you win.   
  
Their eyes meet and Junhoe is well versed in all of Jeongju’s looks. He knows well the look of disappointment, the look of anger, the look of irritation, of wishing that his charge could take a little inspiration from his actual son and show some decorum.   
  
But the look he’s getting right now isn’t one he sees very often, especially not directed at him. Tonight Jeongju looks at him with pride, and Junhoe beams back at him.   
  
But Jeongju isn’t the only one bestowing pride tonight.   
  
“Your parents would be very proud of you.”   
  
He’s stunned by Ji Ah’s words, and also by the light touch of her fingers underneath his chin, lifting his head to look up at her. She smiles at him with softer eyes than he’s used to seeing, and he’s certain then that this isn’t just for show. She’s actually connecting with him on a touchy topic.   
  
They don’t talk about his parents. It’s been six years since the last time either of them mentioned his parents by name, which he knows is not intended out of disrespect. Rather they know the futility of grieving forever, they understand that the best way to honour someone you’ve lost is to move on and make something of yourself. The longer you muddy up your own head with their memories, the longer your vision will be blurred to the possibilities that surround you.   
  
He knows their parents were close, as close as he and Hanbin are now, and he couldn’t imagine his life without Hanbin in it. He doesn’t know if he’d have the internal fortitude to move on as quickly as Hanbin’s parents forced themselves to move on. In that they’re good examples for him, and he’s been grateful for the hard lessons he’s had to learn over the years. But it’s been so long, and she brings them up with such ease now, and none of it would hit him as hard if they hadn’t become an almost taboo topic.   
  
“You know the public will make comparisons when you fight, they’ll watch you and think about your father. So honour him, but do not hold on to the past. You are your own person, with your own capabilities and personality. Showcase yourself, and eclipse their expectations. You have the ability to shine brighter, we all know that and we all expect it.” She pauses, her eyes boring into his, and he sees an honesty in her gaze he isn’t sure he’s ever seen from her before. “Tonight you become more than our adopted son, more than Hanbin’s adopted brother. Tonight you make your own name, and you bring glory to it.”   
  
He doesn’t know what to say in response. He hadn’t expected such an impassioned speech from her, he’d been happy enough with her mere presence. But her words are exactly what he’s been wanting to hear, without ever realizing it. She’s never been that open with him, he’d always had more of a connection with Jeongju. But her pride in him shines in her eyes, and he wants to thank her for saving this moment until now, when he needed it the most.   
  
She knows him, understands his motivation in a way he wouldn’t have expected. He’s never realized how much she’s paid attention to him over the years, but she is well versed at guarding her thoughts behind a mask. But she’s taken the mask off tonight, and she pats his cheek in motherly affection and he basks in the warm glow of  _ family. _ The feeling he’s craved for years, but never thought he’d get again.   
  
She sits back down again and no one dares to interrupt the pleasant silence that occupies the spaces around them. It’s his moment, and they’re all willing to do what they can to shower him in their belief. It makes him feel twice as confident now, he can feel it in his veins, like it’s carried in his blood. He might not carry their blood, but he’ll elevate the status of his own until it’s on par with theirs. He’ll do it himself.   
  


* * *

  
They leave the room together, like they did for Hanbin, and Junhoe feels bolstered by the fact that they’re all going to come down to the ring with him. It’s a bold move by the pair of them, especially Ji Ah. She only ever accompanies her husband, and she’s accompanied her son. Now she’s going to accompany him, and that means that she claims him as her own.   
  
He looks at the other Legion members assembled along the corridor, so similar to Hanbin’s entrance. There are differences, though. They’ll make his entrance elaborate and stunning, because it’s what he deserves. He is precisely where he is meant to be in life, in this place created just for him, through circumstances out of his control. He plans to make the most of them, to show the world that he is his own master.   
  
He hears the thunderous applause as his opponent emerges into view, the loud support booming through the walls. He’s fighting one of the more popular members of the Organ Grinders, which means he’s got a lot of fans. But it just makes him proud that Jeongju set him up with such a high ranking first opponent. He intends the destroy him to prove his gratitude. He knows that no matter how many cheers his opponent gets right now, it’ll be eclipsed by his own entrance, because he’s from The Legion. They always outshine everyone.   
  
The crowd dies down and the lights dim and just like they did for Hanbin’s entrance a long line of fellow Legion members line the way down the pit, standing at attention and awaiting his reveal. Instead of the flames they carried for Hanbin’s entrance, they are adorned tonight with gleaming spears of solid gold, grandiose and extravagant. The spears are usually kept on display in their private rooftop temple, but Jeongju agreed to have them brought out for tonight.   
  
At the cue in his music he walks out from the back, flanked on each side by Hanbin and Jeongju,  _ Caligula and Germanicus, _ and he stands under the wildly cheering crowd in a robe of shimmering golden silk, arms held wide to the crowd, and he gives them their first glimpse of  _ The Divine Julius. _   
  
The crowd is caught up in the euphoria of his debut and his name becomes a chant, and without looking behind him Junhoe begins his walk down to the pit, and as he passes each Legion member they draw their spear back, creating a wave of rippling gold on his way to the pit. He sees brief flashes of faces, ecstatic screams when they touch his fingers. It’s intoxicating to feel so loved by a crowd of complete strangers. It’s something hard to comprehend until you stand and receive it for yourself, and not just in someone else’s shadow.   
  
He hadn’t expected that his debut would get the same level of interest as Hanbin’s had, and maybe it doesn’t and he’s just caught up in the moment, but he feels like the crowd is every bit as obsessed over him as they had been a month ago. They both outshine their popular opponents from their very first introductions. He just has to make sure he gives them something to keep their devotion.   
  
He touches every finger he can, spares glances for every face he passes as he makes his way to the interview platform, where Choi Dongwook waits with his opponent. Junhoe won’t deny his new fans the opportunity to bask in his glory, and he takes his time, mostly because he can. No one would dream of rushing him along.   
  
Junhoe finally ascends to the spot to the left of Dongwook, and he’s joined by Hanbin. The rest of the family have gone to their seats. Hanbin could have too, but Junhoe is happy he’s remained. He wants Hanbin at his side, it’s where they belong with one another.   
  
Dongwook quiets the crowd and Junhoe is alive in the hush, feels the silence open up space around him, like voices are a tangible mass that permeate the air. He focuses on his opponent, appreciating all the features of his face as they stand close together. His eyes trace over the scars from past fights, and the lines of natural wrinkles. He notes the warm brown of his eyes, the energy of someone who has more than one side to them, the same way that he has more than one side to himself.   
  
There’s no bitterness before their fight, no personal affront on either side. There is currently no underlying problem between their factions, so their fight has all the makings of an honourable battle, and Junhoe likes that idea, and when he speaks he relays the message, looks him in the eye and says  _ “let’s have an honourable fight”. _   
  
He bows before moving away to his corner, confidence overflowing. Hanbin stands before him and takes his hands, and in the back of his mind Junhoe thinks about the perfect picture they must be making right now. Their eyes meet and Junhoe feels for the first time like they’re equals. It’s not something he can really explain, because he hasn't proven anything yet. It’s just something he feels in his gut, something he sees in the way Hanbin looks at him. As desperate as he is to impress Ji Ah and Jeongju, Hanbin is the one who knows him best. Hanbin’s words are the most important, and he’s been waiting all day for them.   
  
“This is your moment,” Hanbin begins, fingers tight around Junhoe’s, “as of now, you’re no longer defined by your relationship to my family. You’re no longer in my shadow, no longer in need of proving yourself to others. With this fight you become my partner, my brother, my equal. You alone choose how they’ll write about you, and we both know they’ll write about your victory and sing your praises. It’s time to bring your family back, to carry your father’s legacy forward with all the gleam of the golden spear.”   
  
Junhoe’s fingers tighten back, and he can feel the physical presence of Hanbin’s support, like a spirit has been set loose and it flows into him, through his veins to his very heart. “I have gold where you had fire. Let that gold reflect the flame of your own greatness, and together we’ll blind those who stand below us. I accept my place at your side, brother.” Their eyes remain hooked and Junhoe feels like his entire being is swelled to unbelievable proportions, like all his promise and potential is bursting to get out.   
  
“May our blood run gold,” Hanbin replies, and they bow to each other at the same time, and Junhoe is certain that even in his highly composed state that even Hanbin is moved by this moment between them. They’re never this raw with each other, they’ve been raised to keep their emotional distance. But a time comes when emotions are ready to be shared, and this is their moment of greatest affection. Hanbin trusts him to represent his family, and Junhoe has every intention of proving that his trust is well-placed.   
  
Hanbin walks behind him to lift the golden robe off his shoulders and down his arms, taking it with him as he walks to join the rest of the family. Junhoe turns to bow to them, something he doesn’t have to do, but he wants to do. He has things to prove to them all, and he wants them to bear witness to this change within him. They deserve to see it after spending so long on him, trying to navigate him towards his own great destiny. He might not carry their name, but he carries their spirit.   
  
He turns back towards the middle of the arena, facing the pit, and nimbly leaps down to the bottom. He kneels down and places his fingers against the floor, closing his eyes and basking in the moment. This is what he’s been waiting a decade for. He’s ready to make peace with his demons, ready to welcome the spirit of his father, risen from eternal slumber, to witness him and join with him in the fight.   
  
He stands back up and looks across the pit, where his opponent stands in waiting. Junhoe can see that his hand is already clasped around something small, and he’s surprised to see that he’s already reached for something. He wonders if he ought to do the same? Germanicus always likes to start his fights with a sword in hand, his own homage to their Roman traditions. Junhoe could start his own tradition, has the opportunity to claim a weapon for his own.   
  
But there’s something powerful about standing before your opponent unarmed. The mind games won’t work on his opponent, but it will work on the public. He will start the fight armed with only his own skills, and with the knowledge that he needs no weapons or tools. His very presence is weapon enough, and the people who sit in his corner are the driving force behind his blows.   
  
He focuses on his opponent and waits for the bell that signals the start of their fight. He is calm and confident, assured that he will emerge the victor. He has no issue with his opponent, so he’ll let him live. He says a quick prayer to Mars that the fight will be a good one, where they are both able to show themselves.   
  
The very second the bell rings his opponent moves, bringing his hand to his lips, and a second later Junhoe feels the prick of a small blow dart embed itself into his left arm. He’s surprised for the fight to start this way, but at the same time he is trained for this sort of situation. Despite the fact that they do their training with various professional trainers, the instructions ring in his ear in Hanbin’s voice.   
  
_ Don’t pull it out, crouch into a defensive position to keep yourself balanced and wait for the effects to hit you. Yunhyeong will monitor and counter any ill effects of whatever toxin may be in your system. Stay aware and monitor your opponent. Don’t let him gain an advantage through your own distraction. _   
  
So he heeds the instruction in his memory and waits, crouched low, fingertips against the floor, tensed for balance, eyes on his opponent. He expects to feel something at any moment, waits for the jolt of some ill effect. But with each second that ticks on he feels nothing. There’s no change in heart rate, no quickening of the pulse, no sluggish feelings or tingling limbs. All he feels is the dart hooked into his arm, a slight pull as it dangles out of his skin.   
  
They’re caught in the moment, neither moving, eyes focused on each other. His opponent watches him with an eager expression, witness to some secret that Junhoe doesn’t know. But nothing happens. He’s acutely aware of things—he can hear the crowd clearly, he can count the seconds as they tick by. There’s no effect on his mental processes. There’s no effect at all.   
  
He weaves through memories of prior matches in his head but finds nothing to draw upon that mimics his current situation. They haven’t used this tactic before, it must be some new development. He wonders then if this is simply an attempt to play at mind games? Is his opponent just trying to throw him off, making him anticipate something that’s never going to happen? He’s tempted to reach for the dart and pull it out, wants to throw it back in his opponent’s face as though to say  _ Did you really think it would be that easy? Did you really think I’d fall for your tricks? _   
  
But the words of warning sit in his thoughts.  _ Don’t pull it out. Wait. _   
  
He’s certain that there’s nothing coating the dart, nothing inside of it being released into his system. He’d have felt something by now, and there’s still nothing. It was simply an attempt to either gain a quick upper hand, or to judge his reaction style. It’s just a harmless little dart, nothing more than a minor nuisance. Even so, he’s not pulling it out.   
  
He stands up again with the dart still hooked into his skin and focuses on his opponent’s face. His expression is cause for concern, the slight crease in his brow and even more slight downward pull of his lips.  _ Something _ is up with the dart. It almost seems like he’s disappointed that it’s still hanging there. Like he wanted Junhoe to pull it off. Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye. So he approaches his opponent but keeps himself angled with his left side away, the dart protected.   
  
The gaze gives him away, those eyes continually focusing on the arm, like he’s waiting for an opportunity to reach for it. It could still just be mind games, a way to distract him from paying attention, so he approaches the fight as though he’s wounded on that side and needs to protect himself from further injury. He’s practiced fighting with a handicap before, knows how to compensate.   
  
He approaches aggressively to test his theory, backtracking safely when his opponent attempts to slide around him to get to his left arm. But he comes again, trying to get at the protected side by diving across his front, but Junhoe responds to the disrespectful opening of their match by driving his knee straight into the other man’s nose, causing an immediate stream of blood to begin dripping down his face.   
  
His opponent ignores the blood and tries again, grabbing Junhoe’s arm and pulling it down, scrabbling for the hanging dart with his other hand. But Junhoe grabs that other arm and twists it away, hyper extending it across his leg until his opponent lets go to try and scramble out of the arm hold. Junhoe maintains his hold and quickly scans the available weapons, looking for something he can use to keep some distance in between them. He also makes quick eye contact with Yunhyeong to see if he’s got anything worked out about his situation. They’ve learned how to effectively communicate without words over the past few years, have learned how to read one another’s questions. So when Junhoe looks at him questioningly, Yunhyeong knows what he’s asking about and he shakes his head, reaffirming Junhoe’s stance.   
_   
_ _ Don’t pull it out. _   
  
He sees a spear on the other side of the pit, something he could easily wield against the guy to his advantage. He releases the guy, not happy with how open they were, and keeps his left side guarded as he looks for an opening. But his opponent isn’t content to sit around and wait for an opportunity, and he lunges at Junhoe again. Usually the guy takes more of a clinical approach to his fights, so these tactics are very bizarre. It almost feels like he’s actually fighting someone else.   
  
Junhoe jumps up and grabs onto the chain link, keeping his arm out of reach while delivering another knee to the face, following it up with a hard kick in the shoulder that sends his opponent crashing into the wall. His head smacks into the wall and Junhoe hops down to deliver a heavy kick to his knee, bringing him down to the ground. He takes advantage of the moment and shoots across the pit, hopping up the wall to grab for the spear.   
  
But the footsteps behind him catch up first and he ducks low to spin around and take his opponent’s knees out again. He carefully moves on top of him, straddling him with knees tucked into his sides, keeping his arms pinned. He pummels his fist into the guy’s face, feeling the crunch of bone. He only stops when his opponent’s legs stop kicking.   
  
He knows he’s just playing possum, though, but still he rolls off the guy and jumps halfway up the wall, intent on getting the spear and showcasing more than just the ability to brawl on the ground like some common drunk. He unbuckles the shaft and pulls it down, fingers tight around the smooth wooden handle. He doesn’t intend to use the metal tip—well, maybe just a jab or two, just to press his point. Instead he wants to control the direction of the fight, wants to keep him away from his left arm without having to resort to a duck and roll tactic of constant escape.   
  
If he keeps running, it’ll only look like he’s afraid, and he’s definitely not afraid, not of his opponent, and not of whatever secret that dart may be holding. He’s just wary of the unknown element. He wants to bring the fight into his territory and show off what he can do.   
  
He keeps his distance and waits for his opponent to roll onto his knees before he lashes out with the spear, cracking the wood down against his opponent’s back. He bears it well, not that Junhoe expected anything less. Those among the top ranks in the league are trained to endure the worst pain during fights. Junhoe does it for the humiliation of having that red welt across his back, whipped like a disobedient child. He lines up another shot and this time he hears the grunt from his opponent when he’s hit, a visceral roar that has the guy shaking his head in some primal, animalistic way.   
  
Well, Junhoe’s never had a problem poking danger, and that’s what he does now, whirling the spear the other way around and jabbing the sharp metal tip against his opponent’s thigh, pushing until he hears another scream and he sees bears of blood well up around the metal.   
  
_ It didn’t have to be like this, _ he thinks to himself,  _ but you pushed it in this direction with your mystery. _ He approaches him and uses the blunt end of the spear to jab his elbow out from underneath him until he collapses down onto his chest.   
  
Junhoe leaves the spear against the side of the wall and straddles the guy’s back, controlling both arms and snaking his right arm around his opponent’s neck, squeezing tightly. He doesn’t want to choke him out either, the fight hasn’t gone on long enough. He just wants to give the crowd some good footage, wants a nice photo opportunity for the morning paper.   
  
Junhoe releases the choke and grabs the back of his head, shoving him face down against the ground before standing up again, pressing his foot into the guy’s neck to keep his head down while he looks up into the crowd above, grinning at their noise. They’re enjoying his manhandling, at least, but he wants to give them more.   
  
He steps back and lets his opponent regain his composure, watching as his hands reach up to massage his throat. Of course this could still all be an attempt to lull him into some false sense of comfort, thinking he’s got the upper hand when his opponent is just waiting for the right moment to strike harder. But Junhoe won’t let himself fall into any sort of trap. Not while Jeongju is watching.   
  
He contemplates what moves he can show given his current state, because he doesn’t want this first fight to be only footage of him tossing his opponent around. He wants to  _ fight, _ wants to engage fully. But he has to protect that left arm. The fact that he’s gone on so long and the dart hasn’t fallen out yet also has him very concerned. He can feel the tug on his skin but it’s not a strong one, almost like the dart has some kind of way to lock itself under his skin.   
  
He doesn’t have long to consider before his opponent is back, face covered in blood that’s starting to dry and crack. His nose isn’t dropping anymore, though by rights it should be, because it’s clearly broken. He must have some kind of coagulant in his system now, staunching the flow. Which is good, because too much blood cause make a body slippery.   
  
He holds the spear in his left hand and watches the movements of his opponent, judging his potential injuries. He’s definitely favouring the knee he’d kicked out earlier, and it doesn’t seem like a fake sort of limp. He and Hanbin have spent time studying that exact thing, trying to pick up on ways to read the body in order to find out when someone is actually hurt, and when they’re faking an injury. This definitely looks legit, which makes him grin.   
  
Junhoe lets him advance again and goes out to meet him, the spear pointed away from him but in position to whip around and push him back if needed. The guy tries for a slide to his right side, no doubt hoping to hop up onto his back to reach around to the left, but Junhoe’s ready for it and reaches out with his right hand, gripping the guy’s hair and pushing down on his head for balance as he tries to bring his knee up into his face again.   
  
But this seems to be the sort of move his opponent had anticipated, as he drops back and out of the way, throwing Junhoe off balance, meanwhile grabbing the end of the spear and tugging on it, bringing Junhoe’s left side into close range. He regains his feet and reaches for the arm, gaining position behind Junhoe now and out of his sight. Junhoe’s got a split second decision to make—let go of the spear to protect the arm, or take a chance and let his opponent do whatever it is he plans to do with the dart.   
  
It could be nothing, could still be that stubborn ruse he’s refusing to give up. Maybe he wants to pull the dart out and stab it elsewhere, or maybe the dart is just a lure, and it’s not what he’s going for at all?   
  
He doesn’t want to let go of the spear but he’s wary of the dart so he uncurls his fingers, letting the handle go, and drops to his knees, intending to work on his opponent’s hurt knee. But he makes the decision just a bit too late and as he’s dropping he feels the skin on his arm pull taught, he can feel hooks pulling underneath his skin, but instead of ripping through he hears the snap of the dart’s body breaking off, leaving the hook in his skin, and suddenly—   
  
Bright yellow flame blinds him. The acrid scent of a dozen matches being lit at once, right under his nose, is enough to choke him. The heat from the flame is a furnace against his skin, like his opponent’s taken a blowtorch to him, and he tilts his head away to the right lest his hair catch on fire.   
  
His first thought is Hanbin, like his subconscious knows that Hanbin’s voice will calm the panic and help him figure out the best course of action, because they’ve never really trained for this. He knows that he can’t grab the hook without touching the flame, and even if he could the metal itself is so hot that he’d have serious burns on his fingers. Instead his eyes scan the wall, remembering something he’d seen earlier. A large Bowie knife, halfway up the wall nearest to him. He fixates on the knife and leaps for the wall, sparing no thought for his opponent. The worst opponent at the moment is the blazing flame embedded in his skin, and that has to take his priority.   
  
His right hand grasps the hilt of the knife and he wrenches it from the wall, but before he can do anything with it he feels a hand grabbing his leg. He responds with a vicious kick to the jaw which sends the other man staggering away from the wall, and a second later Junhoe drops to the floor. Without sparing the process a second thought he does the only thing that he can think of doing—he cuts a chunk out of his own arm, like he’s in the kitchen with their chef, taking a lesson on meat preparation.   
  
Maybe it’s the surge of adrenaline running through his system, maybe it’s the painkillers Yunhyeong has undoubtedly administered, but while he’s aware of slicing into his own skin and cutting away the offending flame, the feeling doesn’t register. He watches himself do it, watches as a chunk of his own burning flesh falls away from his arm, and he feels his own fingers holding the bloody knife. But he doesn’t feel the pain.   
  
It feels like he’s cut off someone else’s skin, like the arm itself doesn’t belong to him anymore, like his mind is blissfully detached from the reality of what’s actually done. Blood runs down his arm, his skin pulses angrily, but he doesn’t feel it.   
  
The thing he is most acutely aware of right now, however, is the grievous insult of the attack. He suddenly remembers his opponent and he looks up for him, eyes locking onto the other man’s curious gaze, who’s watching him with a blood grin from across the pit. Junhoe drops the blade and launches himself across the empty space, fury carrying him along like a fierce gale speeds a ship across an open ocean, and he tackles him with all the weight of his anger manifesting and adding another hundred pounds to his force. His own blood slicked fingers find purchase around his opponent’s throat and he tightens them, nails digging into the skin.   
  
_ How dare you cheapen my moment! How dare you take away my opportunity to showcase my superior fighting skills? How dare you insult me with cheap tactics! _   
  
He sees the bulging eyes and immediately remembers Hanbin’s fight against Stray Bullet, thinks of their mirrored positions now.   
  
No. He won’t end his fight the same way. He won’t be a mirror!   
  
This is his opportunity to make his own name, to show who he is. He is not Hanbin’s shadow, mimicking his moves, mimicking his fight. He will not finish his opponent in the same way, even if that way is presented to him on a silver platter.   
  
He releases the man’s throat and gets to his feet, his thoughts focused on Jeongju’s words.   
  
_ Make a statement. _   
  
He remembers Hanbin’s words.   
  
_ You alone choose how they’ll write about. _   
  
He scans the walls again and sees a pair of nunchucks, his favourite weapon as a child. He scales the wall and grabs the wooden handle, yanking them from their spot and dropping back to the ground. Blood is still flowing down his arm but he doesn’t even feel it, too caught up in fury and insult to give any thought to the concept of his own mortality.   
  
If he’s hurt, Yunhyeong will handle it. Junhoe will not end his fight prematurely to deal with something as mundane as blood loss. He will not be cheated out of his victory statement!   
  
He grabs his opponent’s arm and hauls him to his feet, where the man stumbles on his bad knee, but remains standing. Junhoe smashes the handle of the weapon into his jaw from below, a weaponized uppercut that snaps his opponent’s head back with force and he stumbles again, and Junhoe grabs his hand and yanks his arm with such frenzied force that he pulls it out of its socket, bringing a strangled cry from his opponent. He drops the arm and watches as the man falls to one knee and looks at the wall, doubtlessly thinking of the need to pop the shoulder back into place. Before he can move Junhoe whirls the nunchuck and lands such a hard blow to the side of his face that it sends two teeth flying out from his mouth.   
  
_ My statement. This is my fucking statement! _   
  
He whips the wood in a frenzy, driven on by screams of delight from all around him. He can hear them all, the sound both fuzzy and crystal clear at the same time, like he can hear on every frequency. The cheers of the crowd compete with the frantic pumping of his own heart, blood rushing through his body, the drip of that same blood down his arm, the splash of it against his toes. There in the periphery of his vision he can see the smoke from the fire that’s still burning, and he can smell the burnt char of his own flesh, and a thick white smoke billows from that spot, creating a hazy fog around the pit, and he hopes it makes for good footage.   
  
_ The Divine Julius enjoys his moment of rapture in the smoky billows of the pits of Hell, mouth watering at the scent of his own flesh. The Devil him come forth to claim him, marking his ascent into the realm of man! All will perish at his feet. _   
  
He grins at the absurdity of the made up headlines, and contemplates shoving his opponent’s face into the flame, thinks about making him swallow the lump of burning flesh as punishment for his insult.   
  
No. Fire is Hanbin’s thing, it’s Hanbin’s statement, and he is not Hanbin’s shadow. He didn’t want to make the choking moment into something more important than it should be, so too will he decline the invitation of the flame. Not this fight. Not this time.   
  
He never discussed the end of the match with Jeongju, never received instruction on what he should do with his opponent when he wins. Junhoe takes that as an invitation to decide for himself.   
  
_ Make a statement. Choose how they write about your victory. _   
  
Originally he hadn’t imagined that he’d kill him at the end of the fight, because there had been nothing personal between them, there was no insult. He won’t kill for the sake of saying he’s killed a man. He’s not so irresponsible with life.   
  
But the dart, and the flame… There was insult behind those actions, and insult gives him motive. It gives him  _ the right _ to take his life. If he doesn’t, then it will reflect weakly upon him, and he can’t allow this sort of behaviour to go unpunished, lest anyone watching gets the idea to do something similar.   
  
So he stalks to where his opponent is kneeling on the floor, trying to crawl towards the wall, his face a bloody mask of puffed out skin, bruising already taking colour. He stands before him, whirling the nunchucks over his head as he looks up into the crowd, carried on by the frenzied cheers and rapturous screams, and he stares up into the bright white lights above, the lights that bathe him in a divine glow.   
  
This is his moment of divine retribution, of feeling like both God and the Devil have blessed him, they have both called upon him to do their bidding. The decision is his own, but the blessings are there.   
  
And so he gives meaning to his name, he puts all of his strength into the final blow, and he smites his opponent in the vein of an angry god, one hard snap of wood against the back of the man’s skull. Junhoe stands over him and kicks him onto his back, looking down into dead, sightless eyes, and he sinks down to the ground and straddles the chest of his dead opponent, arms held up to the heavens, face twisted in the maniacal grin of ultimate victory.   
  
Hanbin is the first one to his feet, because Junhoe is his responsibility. He approaches Yunhyeong calmly, his face a smooth mask of content pride that hides the underlying concern. He stands next to Yunhyeong, who keeps his features schooled as well, but he leans closer to him to give him a whispered update of Junhoe’s status.   
  
“Get him out of the pit, his blood’s not coagulating at that cut so I’ve had to pump him with so much adrenaline to keep him going that I’m surprised his heart hasn’t burst out of his chest. He could go into shock at any second, I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”   
  
Hanbin grins at the comment, knows it’s probably true, but Yunhyeong might be overcompensating to rush the process along. Junhoe is clearly delirious, whether it’s from the blood loss or the drugs or a combination of both, Hanbin isn’t sure. But he knows Junhoe on a level that no one else knows him, and the language of Junhoe’s facial expressions is one that only Hanbin understands how to read. It’s bloodlust and the thrill of victory to anyone else watching, but to Hanbin, it’s simply terrifying. Junhoe is not of sound mind right now.   
  
But appearances are everything, and he won’t insult Junhoe’s victory statement by rushing him out of the pit and off to the doctor. Junhoe would never forgive him, even at the risk of death.   
  
So he stands at the edge of the pit and waits until Junhoe sees him and invites him down so they can bask in the glory of his victory together. Hanbin jumps down and meets him where he still sits over the corpse of his opponent, extending a hand down to pull Junhoe up to wobbly feet. They clasp forearms in true Roman style, ever the gladiators his family demands they be. But he jams his thumb into the crook of Junhoe’s elbow to feel for his pulse. Junhoe’s wild panting and cloudy eyes are heralds of approaching death.   
  
But Hanbin’s here now, and Death wouldn’t dare steal anyone from him. Junhoe will not have his moment sullied with an early retreat, or a physical collapse. Not on his watch.   
  
He raises Junhoe’s arm in victory and the crowd in deafening, raining support down on the Legion’s beloved sons, and it’s almost as though Junhoe’s body leeches strength from Hanbin’s touch, his stance firm, knees no longer shaking. Junhoe would stand there all night if Hanbin were to let him, soaking in the adulation of the crowd, basking in his well-earned position as a newly crowned fan favourite. But even these few seconds Hanbin gives him now are fighting against him, so Hanbin pushes him up out of the pit and into the waiting embrace of medicine the best way he knows how.   
  
He stands in front of him, hands cupping Junhoe’s cheeks to focus his attention away from the cheers, otherwise he might not even realize Hanbin’s talking. Junhoe’s lips are already starting to turn blue.   
  
“Let’s go greet mom and dad.”   
  
Junhoe’s lips turn up in a genuine smile, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and despite the blood the giddy happiness is genuine. Finally he relinquishes the demons of his childhood, leaving them to soak up the blood in the pit, and he climbs out of the dark hole of the pit and into the brightly lit future. Hanbin climbs up behind him, just to make sure he’s there to catch him if his body fails him.   
  
Jeongju greets them at the top, the stony expression of Germanicus on his face. To anyone vested in Legion history, they’ll see the following gesture as an homage to the past, one final goodbye to Junhoe’s father.   
  
There was one particular fight the man had barely come out of alive, fighting his way to victory through sheer determination. It was three years before his murder, one of the first fights Hanbin and Junhoe had been allowed to watch in person, a gift despite their young age. Initially after proclaiming victory he’d collapsed in the pit but had refused the aid of any who jumped down to help him, crawling to the wall on his hands and knees, somehow finding the strength to climb up on his own, painstakingly slow, fingers slipping the closer he got to the top.   
  
But one hand was not pushed away, and that hand belonged to Germanicus, who stood at the side of the pit, waiting to pull his closest friend up and out of death’s grasp. Junhoe’s father allowed the help, and they stood together at the edge of the pit, one man on death’s door, delirium in his eyes, and the other man with a strong arm around his shoulders, the only time he’d ever offered physical support to anyone.   
  
It’s a popular picture among Legion supporters, and the photographer who took it won countless awards for it that year. Even Junhoe has a framed copy hanging on the wall in his suite. And now Germanicus is there at his side, arm around his shoulders, and Junhoe wants to break down in elated tears at the gesture. But he allows himself to be herded away, it almost feels like he’s floating along his path on the way back, the support of everyone a pillow beneath his weary feet.   
  
Everyone loves him. The crowd. Hanbin. Jeongju… They all claim him as their own.   
  
They pause at the entrance to the back and Jeongju allows him one last moment to turn and wave to the crowd, but it’s a quick wave, because Junhoe’s skin is pale, his eyes are foggy, his lips blue. He thinks the moment lasts longer than it does, but seconds later he’s already forgotten it as he stands in the dressing room, slurring his words as the doctor hurriedly hooks him up to an IV to get liquids into his system.   
  
“D’you shee?” He asks with a laugh, drawing in a hard breath without hearing how it rattles.   
  
“I saw,” Jeongju replies, keeping Junhoe’s focus, “you made your statement.”   
  
“Mine,” Junhoe replies, “I was,” he licks his lips, struggling to talk, “the fire,” he says, unable to complete a full sentence. “No. Bin’s.”   
  
“Yes, I saw that,” Jeongju answers, understanding the statement Junhoe is struggling to make. “I saw you look at it, but you didn’t go for it. That’s good. It would have made for a glorious picture, but you deserve one all your own, and now you have one. Your own signature.”   
  
Junhoe just gives him a dumb smile, too mentally foggy to say anything more. They lay him back on the padded massage table, which is covered to keep blood from getting everywhere. The nurse starts a blood transfusion while the doctor begins assessing the wound in his arm that’s been cleaned off by a second nurse.   
  
The rest of the family leave them to their work and sit together on the couches.   
  
“Why didn’t his blood coagulate around the cut?” Jeongju asks, hard eyes on Yunhyeong.   
  
“Not sure, but I think it may have just been that too much was cut away. All of our testing in on laceration, not gouges. But it might have also been affected by the phosphorous, that’s one thing we’ve never tested for.” Yunhyeong already has notes in his file about further tests they’ll conduct to ensure they know exactly why Junhoe lost more blood than he should have.   
  
“Make sure you do that, this can’t happen again. He was too close to going into shock before he even got out of the pit. I don’t want a repeat of that.” Jeongju will never admit it to anyone, but memories of his closest friend’s brush with death during that old match were bursting to the forefront of his mind at the end, and his own overwhelming urge to interfere and protect his adopted son had caught him by surprise.   
  
“Lucky for us his sheer force of will to grandstand kept him on his feet,” Hanbin jokes, wearing a grin that’s half real and half forced. While he is amused at Junhoe’s determination to soak up his moment of glory despite being minutes away from cardiac failure, he’s also furious that a flaw in their system has been exposed. But Yunhyeong will work with their team to figure out what happened so they can keep it from happening again. For now his eyes look up to meet his father’s gaze, and they both rise at the same time, leaving the others and retreating to the privacy of the interior dark room.   
  
“White phosphorous,” Jeongju says with a disgusted tone, “I don’t know whether I ought to feel insulted or complimented.”   
  
Hanbin closes the door behind them and leans against the wall next to his father. “There we were, complaining about their lack of upgraded weaponry, and there they went, exploding a god damn miniature bomb in his arm. I don’t like it.”   
  
“Neither do I,” Jeongju replies, seething at the mere idea. “This sort of thing does not bode well for the league. Explosive agents have managed to keep out of respectable fights, and now they open the proverbial can of worms. Against us?”   
  
Hanbin is every bit as concerned as his father. While anything is allowed in the league, there’s an unwritten rule when it comes to top tier fights: no explosives. There’s a counter for anything else they could use, but explosive material simply poses too much of a potential threat, not just to the fighters, but to the audience as well.   
  
“Their message was received and paid back, at least. Hopefully it keeps anyone else from getting any similar ideas.”   
  
Jeongju frowns. “I hope your optimism wins out over my pessimism.”   
  
Hanbin grins back at him. “Let’s just count the positives, shall we? Junhoe immediately recognized there was something suspicious about the dart. They were probably expecting him to set it off himself, but he kept his wits about him and tried to compensate for it.”   
  
“Yes, that’s true. I was surprised to see that, I would have expected him to pull it out himself. I’m very pleased with his performance, I knew he’d do well, but he impressed me in ways I hadn’t expected. I was right to name him, he was ready.”   
  
Hanbin’s happy to hear him admit it out loud. “Make sure you tell him that again, you know, when he’s not delirious and will actually remember it.”   
  
Jeongju looks at him with narrowed eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re getting awfully daring these days, telling me what to do.”   
  
Hanbin knows there’s no actual censure in the words, but he plays into it anyway. “Aren’t you getting close to retirement age, old man?”   
  
Jeongju shakes his head. “You’re rather mouthy for someone with only one victory. Talk to me when you’ve had a few more fights.”   
  
They both grin at each other at the same time and Hanbin closes the gap between them and lays his head against his father’s shoulder in a rare display of affection. “You know how much your support means to him. He’ll never ask you for it, so please, give it to him. One time is enough.”   
  
“I’ve given it already,” Jeongju replies, hesitating before draping his arm around his son’s shoulders. The gesture is probably a ploy, Hanbin trying to manipulate him into doing what he wants. But he does wonder what Hanbin knows about Junhoe that he doesn’t. Why is he so earnestly requesting such a thing?   
  
“One more time, when he’s fully coherent. You know I don’t ask you for much, but I would appreciate the gesture. He may not be blood, but he is family.”   
  
Jeongju doesn’t answer right away, thinking over the words and the request. “Well, he’s not you, but he is my son now. He’s proven himself fully, so I’ll grant your request.”   
  
Hanbin grins and straightens up. “Thank you, I appreciate that. One last thing,” he looks up and holds Jeongju’s gaze, no longer supplicant in the nature of his request, “I’m going to have Jinhwan come by for an interview tomorrow.”   
  
“Are you?” Jeongju can already sense the request, and it’s times like this that make him want to roll back the time and never admit to Hanbin how much of a weakness he has for him. Trying to hide the extent of your pride and affection for nineteen years has a way of making you slip up more often when you finally stop hiding it.   
  
“I am. I’d like to arrange an interview with the three of us together.” Hanbin explains, his gaze assertive and demanding. “I know you read Jinhwan’s pieces, you know how good of a writer he is. So think about joining our interview. For me.”   
  
Jeongju sighs in exasperation, and he knows that in the end he’ll give Hanbin what he wants. “I have the feeling that you’re going to force me into an earlier retirement than I have planned,” he says with a touch of mirth, but they both know he isn’t actually joking. “I’ll think about it. For now let’s get back to the family, and tomorrow, once Junhoe is sufficiently recovered, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do regarding the Organ Grinders.” He pushes away from the wall and exits the room, leaving Hanbin alone for a moment to contemplate the interesting path their family dynamics are beginning to take.   
  
He really does have his father wrapped around his finger, as much as Jeongju tries to deny it. He’ll have to ensure no one else ever finds out. Weaknesses can’t be exposed at their high level.   
  


* * *

>   
>  _ it’s the last time i’ll ever see your face _ _   
>  _ _ fatal day to come _ _   
>  _ _ fatal day to come _ _   
>  _                     ["Porcelain" The Agnes Circle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-78y7TONgg)

  
“They’re on the move. Everyone get in position.”   
  
Donghyuk rises from the spot on the floor he’s been sitting on for the past hour, his stomach battered by the wings of a dozen little butterflies, all zooming around in his excitement. They’ve spent the past week planning for this and now they finally get to harvest the fruits of their labour. He glances down at Chanwoo, who’s finally succumbed to a light doze after fretting for three hours over his machine. He nudges Chanwoo’s leg with his foot.   
  
“Wake up, it’s almost time.”   
  
Chanwoo sits upright with a jolt, his heart hammering in his chest at the unexpected rise. His eyes flit around the dark room and land on Donghyuk, who’s grinning at him. Chanwoo’s fingers tighten around his device, a self-made piece of electronic mayhem he’s dubbed a  _ blanket depleter _ . It interferes with all signals in a self-contained area, as though someone laid out a giant blanket across two blocks, enclosing them all within an intangible Faraday Cage, made of nothing more than specifically tuned frequencies.   
  
He looks up at Donghyuk, feeling sick to his stomach now that the time is nearly here. He still doesn’t know why they’re here, still has no information. But it’s probably better that way. “I’m ready.”   
  
Donghyuk smirks at him, clearly amused at his panicked rousing. “Good. I’m heading out, so wait for my signal. Don’t fall asleep again, or I’ll skin you alive.” Donghyuk punctuates the menacing warning with a sarcastically friendly wink and wave, before making his way to the back door, leaving Chanwoo alone to glare at his departing figure.   
  
Despite the fear-riddled tension there’s still room for excitement to gnaw its way into his bones, an unwelcome guest in his own body. Is it so wrong to be excited, though? He’s testing out his own product in real time, with real consequences. He knows it has to be cover for some terrible crime, but as long as he’s not actually part of the crime itself, participating in this way doesn’t reflect poorly on him. All he has to do is sit here in the dark and do nothing until Donghyuk contacts him, and then he just powers on his device. He won’t even be around to physically witness anything going wrong for people.   
  
Donghyuk’s got him holed up in some warehouse that doesn’t seem to have seen much action in the past few months, if not longer. While things aren’t exactly abandoned, there’s a coat of dust on everything that suggests that no one’s been here for some time. He doesn’t even know where  _ here _ is, because Donghyuk had blindfolded him on his way here and hadn’t let him track anything on his phone.   
  
So he stretches out his legs and leans back against the wall before adjusting the earpiece that connects him to Donghyuk. All he can do is sit and wait. He checks his phone hopefully for a message from Bin, but he sees nothing. Until yesterday he’d been planning on going to the robotics competition with the team and staying as long as possible, but then he’d been called in early for an all-day engineering team work session instead, and he’d had to cancel on the team at the last minute.   
  
He told them all he came down with the flu, because he didn’t want to admit that it’s really work for the Death Brigade that’s keeping him away. None of them have texted him with the results, which actually hurts. He’d been hoping that at least one of them would text him to let him know how the day had gone, but he’s left with nothing. He hasn’t texted them to ask, not sure if he’s supposed to be well enough to be texting when you’re sick with the flu. He’s never been sick before, and he doesn’t want to blow his own cover.   
  
It’s just one more piece of the puzzle changing, when all he wants is for things to freeze and remain the same. He’s part of something very secretive, which given the nature of the Death Brigade’s usual activities isn’t really a good thing. But now he fears that it’s finally costing him his life outside of the group, something he’s been fighting to hold on to. It was only a matter of time, really, before this group sucked everything good out of his life, effecting a complete stranglehold on him.   
  
While Chanwoo remains behind in the warehouse, fingers ready to blanket the area with a blackout, Donghyuk quickly makes his way down an alley towards the street. He can hear the crowd milling around outside the venue, die hard fans waiting to catch a glimpse of the Legion on their way our of the venue.   
  
He’d watched the match on his phone, so he’s not surprised at how long it’s taking them to leave. He assumes they’re tied up in medical, probably trying to fast track their way through a blood transfusion. The new guy,  _ Julius, _ looking pretty damn pale by the time they’d gotten him to the back, blood still dripping down his arm. He’s seen severe blood loss often enough to judge when someone is really bad off, and he’d looked terrible.   
  
Donghyuk’s a little surprised that he’s not more angry over the victory. He hates seeing anyone from the Legion win, but even he has to grudgingly admit it was a well won victory. He’ll never speak the sentiment out loud, never take that risk. It was a bold move by the Organ Grinders to introduce white phosphorous to the match, on that will no doubt spark jealousy across the factions, wishing they’d all been the ones to do it first. Maybe if they had, Jiwon wouldn’t have lost.   
  
He’s been trying his hardest to move on, but every day he can’t help but think about their chat in the medical office, and every day Jiwon plagues his thoughts, the ever-present cockroach that just won’t die, no matter how many times you hit him. He keeps coming back, creeping out from the dark, scurrying around all the corners of his brain. It’s stupid, really, that Jiyong keeps him around. It’s torture for everyone involved, and sometimes he wonders if it’s just Jiyong’s way of reminding them all that none of them are really safe. Jiyong could tear any of them down at a moment’s notice.   
  
Because Jiwon was about as high as anyone can ever hope to be in the Death Brigade, without being invited into Jiyong’s inner circle. For him to fall so low is the best warning Jiyong could possibly serve them to remind them of their place. He was once a prized member of the group, someone they held up with pride and admiration. Now he sleeps outside in the cold, ignored at best and harshly taunted at worst.   
  
But Donghyuk thinks he deserves better. He definitely shouldn’t be where he was anymore, and he should have a forced retirement from the pit. But he could start over again, couldn’t he? He could work solely as a foot soldier for the gang activities. There’s no shortage of work to be done on the streets, no shortage of people to rough up for money, no shortage of petty enemies to harass. It’s not like Jiwon has lost all ability to do anything. He’s still strong, he heard the doctor confirm as much. He can still wield weapons and shoot guns and bomb buildings, just like he did before.   
  
Maybe he won’t sleep in their room anymore, but he shouldn’t be sleeping outside either. He should be allowed to move into the main dorm room, just give him the worst bunk in the building, the one with the broken slats that everyone avoids. Maybe if they all saw him putting his back into hard work and doing well, he’d be forgiven eventually, and he wouldn’t be such a social pariah. Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to greet him warmly like the brother he is, instead of kicking dirt in his face and spitting at him while he’s on the ground. Maybe they could meet up for a beer after Jiwon finishes a shift on the front gate, and they could sit on the patio and have a drink and talk about shit. He misses that, just talking to him.   
  
Lately he’s been sleeping with the tattered old Bible Jiwon gave him years ago under his pillow. He’s always careful to keep it hidden so the others don’t know it’s there. Jiho would probably burn it if he knew about it, the same way he’d made Donghyuk throw out one of his favourite hoodies because Jiwon had worn it so often.   
  
But the Bible helps him to sleep better. Whether it’s the hand of God easing his sorrows of the comfort of old memories, he can’t say. But he feels better every night when his fingers brush over the creased and worn pages. But tonight is not the night for distractions, so he pushes Jiwon out of his head and focuses on the mission.   
  
It’s cold out tonight, so he’s not out of place in his attire: wool hat shoved down just above his eyes, a black scarf tied around his face, covering him from the nose down. He knows that his most noticeable feature among the Death Brigade is his platinum blonde hair, so he keeps it well hidden under the hat. With only his eyes visible no one will recognize him.   
  
He joins the throng of fight fans assembled at the back, clustered around the Legion’s armoured cars, waiting for them to leave the venue. The majority of people seem to be Legion fans, so Donghyuk doesn’t speak to anyone, just listens. There are some Organ Grinder fans here too, come to grudgingly pay their respects. You don’t often find fight fans who hold losses against rival factions, especially not after impressive victories. The love of fighting itself always seems to come first to them.   
  
Donghyuk blends perfectly into the crowd, his eyes roaming around for the others, though he hopes he doesn’t see them. Because picking them out means that other people here could pick them out, and they don’t want to blow their cover prematurely. He hears the sounds of a commotion nearby and stands on his toes to crane his head over the crowd.   
  
Two rough looking men seem to be pushing each other around, and he wonders if that’s the set up for one of the distractions? Hyping the crown up into chaos before the actions transpires. They want everyone with frayed nerves and energy to burn before they unleash the true mayhem of the night.   
  
He pulls a pair of gloves on before sticking his hands back in the pockets of his jacket, fingering the dart concealed there. He wants to capture someone to bring back to the compound, hopes it will keep everyone’s excited attention off of Jiwon for a few days. He just needs to find a worthy victim for the tranquilizer, so he scans the crowd around the cars, because there are already a team of Legion security guards around the vehicles. He looks for the biggest one, trying to commit everyone to memory in hopes of finding him later in the chaos.   
  
Ten minutes later and there’s commotion again, but by the doors this time. Donghyuk straightens up because it’s very likely that this is it, that they’re coming out now. He hangs back and lets the crowd surge around him, shuffling closer to get a good look. He wants to have a visual on the entire area, though, needs to watch where everyone scatters.   
  
Suddenly the doors glide open and Donghyuk’s eyes are drawn to the scene, like some great magnetic pull. He watches as two bodyguards exit first, faces impassive and stern, hands on their weapons. Behind them walks Germanicus himself, his expression haughty and irritated, like a king forced to wade through peasants when all he really wants to do is trample them beneath his heel. Donghyuk has always hated the attitude he gives off, can’t stand the energy. He’s glad they’re finally putting an end to it tonight.   
  
The new guy, Julius, walks behind him, and his expression couldn’t be more different than Germanicus. Julius is only too happy to acknowledge the fans, to reach out and touch their fingers, despite the protest of security. Julius is clearly a man of the people, and he wants his crowd to know that they’re adored. It makes Donghyuk hate him only marginally less than he did before.   
  
Behind him walks Germanicus’ wife, parliamentary leader Kim Ji Ah, who wears a polite expression as she acknowledges those in attendance. Donghyuk has no love for politicians, especially ones who do nothing to help those in need of assistance. Next to her walks her daughter, who Donghyuk can’t help but narrow his eyes at, this child who was complicit in Jiwon’s utter humiliation. Another woman walks behind them, someone he doesn’t recognize.   
  
But then his eyes finally see the person that he wants to focus on—Kim Hanbin,  _ Caligula, _ the man responsible for ripping the most important person in Donghyuk’s life away from him. He has to pinch himself to stay centered in the moment, to keep himself from shoving his way through the crowd to get to him. He wants to attack him with his own hands, wants to punch the teeth right out of his mouth. But it would ruin all of their plans, an impromptu attack on the wrong person. But God, is the desire for revenge ever there. He dreams about it often enough.   
  
The low whistle in his ear draws his back. He’s got two earpieces in tonight: one is shared with only Chanwoo, while the other is the group frequency, relayed messages from Jiho earlier, and now the whistle from Yongguk that alerts them to his actions. The first whistle means he’s lining up the shot on Germanicus.   
  
Donghyuk holds his breath, waiting for the second whistle, the signal that he’s taking the shot. He can’t believe they’re about to do it. They’re about to openly attack the Legion, right outside the arena. He waits to give Chanwoo the signal, firm in the knowledge that he’s right in his plans. If they truly want panic and chaos, they have to use the public’s own twisted priorities against them. As terrified as people will be, they’ll also be hungry for recognition, preoccupied with being the first one on social media to announce the attack and live stream the event. And when no one can connect to anything he knows they’ll all freeze in place, blocking security, police, and medical personnel. Everyone will be caught up in the trappings of their own greed for recognition, and it will allow them to carry out their agenda.   
  
TV stations will scramble, desperate for the footage and the ratings. So he’ll let them see Germanicus being shot, but that initial impact is all they’ll be allowed to show. That one single solitary moment of impact—and the nothing. No way to update. The entire city will be in a scramble, desperate for an update they won’t be able to receive.   
  
Yongguk’s second whistle sounds and Donghyuk reacts perfectly on cue. Just as he hears the blast of the rifle and sees the jerk of Germanicus reeling from the impact he speaks into his microphone.   
  
“Now.”   
  
And suddenly, lick clockwork, everyone screams, and while half the crowd disperses for cover, the other half are glued to their phones and glued to their places, confusion at their suddenly dead connections.   
  
Now it’s time to wreak havoc. For Jiwon.   
  


* * *

  
Hanbin’s at the back of the procession when it happens. One second everything is fine, he’s nodding to fans and smirking at Junhoe, watching as he lingers outside the SUV, letting people take pictures with him. The next second he hears the loud bang of what can only be a gunshot and he sees his father stagger backwards and immediately his brain fires multiple questions at him:   
  
1) Is his father okay?   
2) Where is the shooter?   
3) Where is the rest of his family?   
  
The answers:   
  
1) His father is still on his feet, moving of his own accord; there’s blood on the side of his face but no blood on the back of his shoulder   
2) The bullet doesn’t appear to have come out through the back, so it probably got lodged in the bone, and the direction of the blood splatter probably means it came from higher up in one of the surrounding buildings   
3) He sees his mother pulling Hanbyul into the car, and then his father enters behind her, who’s being supported by Junhoe, who in turn is being shielded by Jisoo, who’s got a weapon in her hands, eyes scanning the crowd, and around her is a tightened ring of their security guards   
  
He ducks behind the SUV, waiting for another shot to come, but there’s nothing. Instead someone throws a smoke bomb into the area and white smoke blossoms up around them, scattering more of the public, but the majority of the crowd remains, drawn to the bloodsport like moths to a flame, forgoing their own safety for curiosity. He hears countless screams of “I’ve got no signal!” “What the fuck happened to the signal?” and resists the urge to check his own phone.   
  
He knows he ought to get into the SUV, because the danger is still there, and maybe the second shot never came because he was supposed to be the second target, but the shooter couldn’t line up a good shot? But then why would they let off a smoke bomb if there was another target, and ruin the shooter’s visual?   
  
Two seconds later he hears fresh screams as a blast of fire lights up ahead of him, near one of the other cars, and suddenly he wonders if maybe the shooter was just trying to get them all bundled up into one car before shooting at the gas tank? Of course it’s protected, but still. Hanbin refuses to be taken out hiding inside a vehicle. Not while his family’s been attacked.   
  
He skirts behind the vehicle while there’s still some smoke cover, moving away from his family. His mind is still reeling with the events: his father has been shot, Junhoe is still weakened after his fight. The only person in the vehicle at full strength to protect them is Jisoo.   
  
Unless she’s involved. But he’s certain she isn’t. He could be wrong, of course, but the fact that their SUV hasn’t taken off without him is proof enough right now that she’s not involved in some underground coup to take out his side of the family.   
  
But he’s not getting into that SUV. Not without some answers.   
  
He watches as some of their security detail run off to deal with the flames around the lead vehicle and he hears something shatter in the same direction, like someone has thrown something against the SUV. The windows themselves are shatterproof. Jubilant yells draw other security attention to the other side of the scene, where a Molotov is thrown at the SUV.   
  
Hanbin keeps his wits about him and ignores the distractions, certain that that’s exactly what they are—distractions to allow the shooter to slip away. His eyes scan over the buildings where the shooter might have been, and he commits it all to memory to discuss with police later. His sight drops down to ground level in that direction, certain it’s the correct one given the distracting screams and decoy behaviour going in opposing directions.   
  
He sees something bright and orange through the still haze of the lingering smoke, another Molotov lit up and ready to be thrown. The shrill screams of dumbfounded fans pierce the night, people crouched low in the area, hoping to survive the attack any way they can. Or they may just be people too concerned with the need to say that they were there, to say they witnessed it all. The concept of self-preservation is not always a person’s top priority.   
  
Hanbin sees the fire and he sees the person who holds it and doesn’t give himself time for second guesses as he bolts out from behind the car, giving chase to the suddenly fleeing figure who escapes down the alley, dropping the bomb as he sprints away. There’s no way this guy is going to outrun him, because Hanbin knows how superior his physicality is. No thug will ever outpace him.   
  
He reaches a turn in the alley seconds after the guy, already gaining ground with his explosive steps, and a few seconds later he reaches out to grab an arm, expecting a struggle with the guy who’s intent on getting away.   
  
He doesn’t get a struggle at all. Instead it almost seems like the guy stops running, letting the momentum of Hanbin’s pull take him backwards, and a second later Hanbin feels the prick of something jabbing into his leg. The effects aren’t immediate. He bats the piece away in fury before closing his hand around the guy’s forearm, intent on pulling him around to yank the scarf from his face and get a good look at him before he kills him.   
  
But seconds later and his grip feels weak, like he can’t hold on to anything, can’t even make a fist, and he’s suddenly overcome with a sluggish sensation. The guy turns around to face him and Hanbin can barely make anything out anymore, his vision starts swimming.   
  
And Donghyuk can’t believe his god damn luck. He’d watched the security around the SUVs, watched as most of their forces went off in opposing directions. He’d wanted to draw some attention to himself to snag a single security guard, just one of them who would give good chase and get far enough away for him to jab him and knock him out to bring back to the base.   
  
And instead he’s gotten fucking Caligula.   
  
Right here, at his damn feet.   
  
He’s not quite knocked out yet but he’s close enough, unable to resist as Donghyuk pulls him up and over his shoulder. He turns around and checks behind him, giddy when he sees that no one has followed them. He runs as fast as he can with the extra weight back to the warehouse, praying that no one comes looking for them. He pulls on the handle of the door and slides into the warehouse unseen, closing the door behind himself.   
  
He hasn’t told Chanwoo about this part of the plan, hasn’t even told him about the attack at all. The kid is noticeably not good with random violence, so Donghyuk hadn’t wanted to risk him getting cold feet if he knew what they’d really come here to do. Now is the moment of truth.   
  
“Chanwoo, you need to check him,” Donghyuk instructs as he barges into the room where he’d left the technician, speaking in a low voice as he approaches. He watches as Chanwoo looks at him with wide eyes, appraising the situation and looking increasingly nervous.   
  
“What’s going on?” Chanwoo asks, watching as Donghyuk lays a prone body down on the floor in front of him, feeling all of his fear and anxiety rear up again. He wasn’t supposed to be an active part in any of this. He was supposed to stay here, out of harm’s way, and remain ignorant to whatever the others had done. He looks back at Donghyuk, who’s staring at him in irritation. “What did you guys do?”   
  
Donghyuk doesn’t answer. “Check him for trackers. Don’t make me tell you again.”   
  
Chanwoo looks back at the body of the prone man and suddenly recoils in terror when he sees who it is, scooting himself back until he hits the wall. But Caligula doesn’t move, he lays in the same position Donghyuk had put him down in, barely breathing. But Chanwoo is still terrified. He was there in person to watch as this man at his feet thorough ruined Jiwon like it was nothing. He isn’t about to lay a finger on him.   
  
Donghyuk can sense the trepidation so he surges forward and grabs Chanwoo’s hair, yanking his head back painfully. “You know who this is, so you know that he has to have a tracker implanted somewhere. You fucking find it and you cut it the fuck out of him.” He lets him go and shoves him forward. Chanwoo whimpers twice before reaching for his backpack, and Donghyuk pulls out a pistol as he watches Chanwoo rifle through his bag, screwing a silencer onto the barrel. He has to be ready, but he can’t afford to draw attention with a gun shot.   
  
He creeps back to the door, standing by at the ready.   
  
Chanwoo reaches into his bag to withdraw the scanner he always keeps on himself. He uses it for a multitude of things, tracking devices included. Originally he’d bought it to run himself a side business at school, of scanning classmates for tracking devices their parents planted on them. He still uses the same one now.   
  
His hands tremble as he runs it over the body in front of him, terrified at the prospect of Caligula waking up. He wants to call for Donghyuk to come back, doesn’t know what he’d do if this guy suddenly wakes up and lunges for his throat.   
  
Caligula would kill him, no question. Donghyuk wouldn’t even have time to react before Chanwoo’s life is ended. What if he’s still conscious? What if he’s just playing possum, waiting for the right moment to strike? Caligula doesn’t know anything about him, doesn’t know who he is or what he does or why he’s even with the Death Brigade. He’d just see him as a captor and he’d kill him. If he were less afraid he’d probably whisper something to him, plead with him, tell him the truth.   
  
_ “Please don’t hurt me. I’m just a high school kid, the Death Brigade are using me as payment against my parents’ debts. All I want to do is make robots, I don’t want to hurt anyone. Please don’t kill me.” _   
  
His scanner finally pings when he holds it over the back of Caligula’s neck, and he looks over at Donghyuk, because what now? What is he supposed to do, cut it out himself?   
  
Donghyuk must sense the question because he looks back at him. “Did you find it?” Donghyuk asks him in a whisper, and Chanwoo nods. Donghyuk scowls at him and hisses a command. “Then cut it out! Stop wasting time!”   
  
Chanwoo shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says in a hushed whisper, and it’s true. Despite training to be an engineer for the fights, he can’t do any of it himself. Slicing people up in video games is one thing. To do it in person is a whole other thing, and that’s one line he refuses to cross. Even with a gun pointing in his face, cocked and pressing against his skull. There are some things you can’t come back from.   
  
“God, you’re hopeless,” Donghyuk replies as he hurries back to his side, glaring at him in irritation. He sinks down to his knees and pulls a wickedly serrated knife from his belt. “Where is it?”   
  
Chanwoo points at the back of his neck, nervous eyes flitting from the knife back to the neck. “That’s where it scans.”   
  
Donghyuk doesn’t hesitate before making a quick cut to the skin, not phased when blood seeps around the knife. Chanwoo whimpers again, but Donghyuk pushes his finger into the cut and feels the knob at the top of his spine. He finds what he’s looking for immediately. One of the very first jobs he’d had upon joining the group had been working with the butcher who supplied their meat. The man had taught him how to slice animals with cold precision, and he very quickly learned to deal with the blood and gore.   
  
He peels the small chip off the bone and holds it out to Chanwoo, who looks like he might be sick.   
  
“Scan it again, make sure this is it.”   
  
Chanwoo holds the scanner in one trembling hand, the other one pressed to his mouth to stop himself from retching. This is too much for him, he can’t handle being so close to it. He shakes as he holds the scanner out, passing it over the bloodied chip on Donghyuk’s finger. The scanner pings again.   
  
“Scan his neck again, just to make sure.”   
  
Chanwoo would rather not, but Donghyuk’s still got the gun in his hand. Chanwoo’s eyes fall on the knife instead, which is equally as terrifying to him as the gun, maybe even more so. At least the gun would be quick. The knife would be painful, and it would take far longer to die. He holds the scanner over Caligula’s neck, but no further sounds come from it. Chanwoo withdraws his shaking hand, laying the scanner on the floor beside him and looking at Donghyuk, awaiting further instruction.   
  
Donghyuk just stares at the chip though, like he’s pondering what to do.   
  
“We should probably fry it, before smashing it,” Chanwoo offers, assuming they pulled it out to destroy it.   
  
“Don’t you fucking touch it,” Donghyuk replies, standing up and looking down at him. “Have you shot a gun before?”   
  
Chanwoo nods. “I take classes.” He hates the classes, but they’re mandatory as part of his training.   
  
Donghyuk holds the pistol out to him, dangling it in front of his face. “If anyone comes through that door, you shoot them. If you’re too much of a bitch to shoot them, then do me a favor and shoot yourself. But don’t you dare leave before I get back.”   
  
Chanwoo reaches up to accept the pistol, and it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds with the way he can barely keep it up. Most of it is mental, though, and his fingers feel clammy around the metal. He doesn’t want it, feels compelled to throw it away into some dark corner. “Where are you going?” He asks, voice rising in panic. “You can’t leave me!”   
  
Donghyuk glares at him. “I’m going to get us a car, and I’m going to get rid of this,” he holds up the tracker. “But I have to go in case they’re trying to track him already, so you stay in this fucking corner and you hide this god damn body until I get back. Do not let me down.”   
  
Chanwoo watches as Donghyuk takes off through the front part of the building, leaving him alone in the dark. “Holy fuck,” he whispers, torn between fear of the man in front of him and revulsion at the blood that’s seeping from his neck. Should he do something about that? What would he even do? He doesn’t know the first thing about first aid. Does Donghyuk even want him to stop the bleeding? He’s going to kill him after all, isn’t he? Revenge for Jiwon?   
  
Chanwoo cradles the gun in his hands, terrified of the weapon, but even more terrified that he knows how to use it. He glances at the door, then back at Hanbin. He wonders if his data block is still running? Does anyone outside of this block know what’s going on?   
  
What is going on? He’d heard a loud gun shot, but who was the shooter, and who did they shoot? Aside from the cut on his neck, he can’t see any injuries on Caligula. Why is he knocked out, though? How did Donghyuk get him here?   
  
He wants to check his pulse, but he’s terrified to touch him. He doesn’t even know how to count a pulse, anyway. He knows how to understand the read out he gets on a computer screen, but he knows nothing about tactile first aid.   
  
He reaches a finger for his neck but his attention is captured by the sound of loud footsteps approaching from the alley, and he turns terrified eyes on the door. Donghyuk had gone out the front, and someone is approaching from the back. It sounds like more than one person, and he shrinks back against the wall as they run past outside.   
  
_ please don’t come in please don’t come in please don’t come in please don’t come in _   
  
They run by, but Chanwoo still rocks back and forth, terrified, wondering if it’s just a trap. Maybe they know he’s here. Maybe they didn’t get the tracker out in time, and they’ve pinpointed it here to this building. Maybe there’s another tracker! The Legion probably has all kinds of gadgets only they know how to locate. Maybe his scanner isn’t strong enough. Maybe it doesn’t scan the right kind of frequency!   
  
His eyes are suddenly blurry with hot tears and he bites the meat of his palm to keep from crying. He can’t go out like this. He can’t die for these people, some pawn in their bullshit turf war. All he wants to do is get a robotics scholarship to a good school, where he can get a good job and be paid enough money to get his family out from the death grip of poverty. They don’t need a fancy house, they just need out of this fucking neighbourhood.   
  
He doesn’t deserve to die because of this! None of this is his fault. None of it!   
  
He hears a scuffling sound from ahead and he presses back into the wall, one hand gripping the gun, the other still caught painfully between his teeth. This is it, isn’t it? Someone has come in to the building, scouting the scene before sending a whole team in. Maybe they’ll let him surrender? He knows enough about the Death Brigade, maybe the police will offer protection for his family if he switches sides?   
  
“Chanwoo?” It’s only Donghyuk, and Chanwoo lets out a whimper of relief as he sees him emerge from the shadows. He’s violently shaking by the time Donghyuk gets to him and Chanwoo holds the gun out for him to take, collapsing back against the wall when Donghyuk accepts it.   
  
“There was someone outside, I thought they were coming in, I thought they found us, I thought we were too late,” he relays in a rush, drawing his knees up to his chest. “But they ran by, they didn’t come in. Did you see them outside?”   
  
Donghyuk nods, no sympathy for the terrified kid in front of him, only irritation and revulsion at the way he so easily fell apart. “Good timing then. I put the tracker on a moving car, so when they do start looking for him they’ll be led in the wrong direction. Now get off your ass and stop being so fucking pathetic. Help me with him, I have a car out front. Is your blocker still running?”   
  
Chanwoo looks at the device, reaching out to pick it up in still trembling fingers. He’d set the timer for a half hour window only as requested, and according to the countdown it’s still got seven minutes. He looks back at Donghyuk and nods.   
  
“Then we need to go now before it comes back on. I don’t want any overhead footage of us to be captured.” Donghyuk hefts Caligula up and over his shoulder, holding the pistol in his right hand. He navigates his way through the old warehouse to the side door, where he’s got a car pulled up with the trunk open. He quickly dumps the body into the trunk and slams the lid shut.   
  
“Let’s go,” he instructs Chanwoo, moving to the front of the car.   
  
“What about this? Chanwoo asks, holding the blocker in his hands. “It has to stay here if we want to signal blocked, otherwise it’ll only block wherever we’re going. And that might look suspicious.” He doesn’t want to leave the device, feels attached to it, like it’s a pet, or a friend that he doesn’t want to leave behind.   
  
“You’re right, we have to leave it, but we can’t leave it lying around out in the open, especially not with your fingerprints all over it. We’ll have to find some place to hide it.” Donghyuk slides into the driver’s seat and Chanwoo opens the back door, only for Donghyuk to yell at him.   
  
“Get in the front seat, this isn’t a fucking taxi!” He watches as Chanwoo sheepishly closes the back door and slides into the seat beside him. “And stop looking so freaked out, you’re suspicious. Don’t make me lock you in the trunk with our friend.”   
  
Chanwoo gulps nervously and sits back, holding his bag in his hands, fingers tightly clenched around the fabric. Donghyuk wouldn’t really do that, would? The idea of laying next to the supposedly unconscious body of their greatest enemy is enough to bring tears to his eyes, which he furiously rubs away.   
  
Donghyuk shakes his head in disgust. “Just put your seat back and pretend to be asleep, for fuck’s sake. Can you do that?” Chanwoo does as he’s told, even though his heart is still hammering in his chest. Donghyuk eases the car down the alley and stops still in the shadows, grabbing the device and hopping out of the car. Chanwoo keeps his eyes closed, afraid to break the illusion of sleep. What if a police officer walks by? Or some Legion security guy? What if their cover gets blown because he can’t stop looking like he’s done something wrong?   
  
He jolts up at the sound of the driver side door opening, panicked eyes watching as Donghyuk settles back in behind the wheel. Of course it’s just Donghyuk.   
  
“I attached it to the inside of a sewer, I’ll come back and get it for you when things calm down.”   
  
Chanwoo can’t bring himself to answer, so instead he just lies back in the seat again and closes his eyes, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart as the full reality of the situation hits him. He’s an accomplice to a kidnapping. Maybe even to murder, if they kill Caligula. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep his whimper from getting out, not wanting to aggravate Donghyuk even further.   
  
He’s not sure why he’s so caught up about it. The group does far worse things that kidnappings, and he’s always managed to walk away with a clear conscience. Maybe it’s just different this time because he was there, actively participating. He aided Donghyuk is removing Caligula’s tracking device, and he sat over his unconscious body holding a gun. He didn’t even stop the bleeding from his neck. He sat there and did nothing.   
  
He could have stopped it if he’d really wanted to. He could still stop it now. He’s certain that the Legion would offer his family help in return for his own help in getting Caligula back. All he would have to do is quickly text the police, give them the details while Donghyuk drives back to their compound. The police could follow the car and block it in, hopefully taking Donghyuk down before he tries to kill him for his betrayal.   
  
But who’s to say that Jiyong won’t realize what’s happened and have his family executed?   
  
Or what if he already has his family being held hostage, waiting on the outcome of his participation in the mission? What if he contacts the police and saves himself but dooms his family to death?   
  
All he wanted to do today was go to the robotics competition and watch his team’s robot as it competes against other schools. Instead he’s participated in a kidnapping, and grand theft auto, on top of that! He still doesn’t even know what else has happened tonight that’s become an accomplice to. He could ask Donghyuk, just so he knows, but at the same time he’s not sure that he wants to know. It’ll be easier to go back to the compound and slink off to the technician’s quarters and bury himself under the covers of the bed he’s got there.   
  
Maybe all they did tonight was kidnap Caligula. Maybe that was the entire plan. Maybe he’s building himself up into a frenzy, thinking that something else must have happened. He’s obsessing over the potential that doesn’t even exist. They drive for about fifteen minutes before Donghyuk finally speaks to him.   
  
“You did good tonight, for your first time out.”   
  
Chanwoo doesn’t buy the compliment. He can see still the revulsion in Donghyuk’s gaze when he looked at him earlier. “Yeah, thanks.”   
  
“You did your part of the job, and you did it well. That’s what really matters in the end, and that’s what I’ll tell Jiyong.”   
  
Chanwoo turns to face him, watching as he drives the car with practiced ease.  _ That’s what really matters in the end. _ The fact that he effectively blocked the area, and not the fact that he nearly buckled from the fear and wouldn’t have been able to protect Donghyuk’s spoils of war. He doesn’t respond to the comment.   
  
“Do you even know what we’ve done tonight?” Donghyuk asks, and Chanwoo bristles at his tone of voice. The excitement and jubilation over who they’ve got in the trunk sends a shiver down his spine.   
  
“We kidnapped Caligula,” Chanwoo replies, eyes still on Donghyuk, who suddenly laughs.   
  
“Shit, you really don’t know, do you?” Donghyuk asks, and the gleeful way in which he grins makes the hair on the back of Chanwoo’s neck stand up.  _ No. _ There can’t be anything more. He doesn’t want to hear about anything else, doesn’t want to listen. He turns away and stares out the window, hoping that Donghyuk will drop the subject and not elaborate. Because he doesn’t want to know.   
  
But Donghyuk looks at him and sees his discomfort, which only makes him laugh again. “We took out Germanicus. That was the main goal, Yongguk shot him. That’s why we wanted the signal blocked, to throw everyone into a panic. I just got Caligula by pure fucking luck! I was hoping to draw away one of their security guards instead, but then this asshole came after me himself!”   
  
Chanwoo stares at him with his mouth agape, his hands shaking as he begins to process the news. “Shot him dead?” He asks, because he can’t believe they’d do such a bold thing.   
  
“Dead,” Donghyuk confirms, “right in front of all the fans and the media. We provided the distraction and diversion for Yongguk to get away.”   
  
Chanwoo stares ahead in shock, not even sure why he’s surprised. Jiyong really had Germanicus executed in cold blood. He’s really an accessory to murder. He’s directly responsible for covering up the attack. Any member of the Legion he meets now will want his blood, regardless of whatever information he can offer on the Death Brigade. He won’t be safe anywhere.   
  
“We’re taking down the fucking Legion, Chanwoo!” Donghyuk yells, reaching out to slap his arm jovially. “Jiyong’s gonna reward you for your part, don’t worry about that. Might even wipe your family’s debt with our prize in the trunk.”   
  
Chanwoo nods halfheartedly, wondering if it’s worth it. He doubts Jiyong would let his parents off the hook, because he sees Jiyong for what he truly is—a callous and ruthless leader, his only concern self-advancement and self-preservation. Jiyong doesn’t care about any of them, so long as they do what they’re told. Maybe Donghyuk expects praise, but Chanwoo knows he’ll never get anything.   
  
They arrive back at the compound and Chanwoo tunes everything out as Donghyuk drives the stolen car through the gate. He can never recover from this, the choices he’s made tonight will haunt him for the rest of his life, he’s certain of it. He stays quiet as Donghyuk drives across the compound towards the vehicle bay, getting out to key a code into one of the security panels before driving the car through. Chanwoo sinks lower into the seat, trying to stay calm despite the panic in his head. Donghyuk parks and exits the car, coming around to open Chanwoo’s door.   
  
“Are you really being a bitch about this?” Donghyuk asks him, and Chanwoo doesn’t answer, just folds his arms across his chest. “Here’s some advice, because you fucking need it.”   
  
Chanwoo can’t help but look at him, even though right now the sight of Donghyuk makes him want to throw up from the nerves. But he meets his gaze, taken aback at the look of anger in his eyes. It’s sobering in a way that holding the gun in his hands was sobering.   
  
“You are deep in this shit, kid, whether you want to be or not. I gave you a fucking gift by bringing you out tonight. A  _ gift. _ You are only of only eight people who knew about this, and it went off perfectly. You might want to be proud of your work with us for once, instead of cowering like some little bitch. The more afraid you are, the more of a target it’ll put on your own chest.” Donghyuk’s eyes are narrowed with anger, and Chanwoo can’t face him anymore, turning away.   
  
“Now, because I’m feeling generous, I’ll only tell Jiyong the good things, and I’ll leave out the bad. But if I were you? I’d start enjoying my privileges a little bit more, unless you want to end up like Woosung. Is that what you want?”   
  
Chanwoo swallows a sob at the thought of Woosung, and no, he does not want to end up like his former mentor. He hears Donghyuk walks around to the back of the car to pop the trunk and he waits, because he’s still not convinced that Caligula is actually unconscious, and he half expects him to ambush Donghyuk from the trunk. Chanwoo almost hopes for it to happen. He’d take his chances with Caligula. At least death would be quick.   
  
But the trunk opens and nothing happens, and soon enough the trunk closes again and Chanwoo takes a deep breath. Donghyuk is right to offer him censure, of course, and as much as Chanwoo hates him for it right now, not everyone would be willing to do that much for him. Jiho probably would have shot him for being a coward. But now he needs to be wary of his reactions, otherwise he’s going to draw negative attention to himself. He can’t help his family if he’s dead.   
  
Donghyuk watches as Chanwoo hurriedly leaves without saying anything. He’d thought that giving the kid a chance to be a part of something bigger would help him settle in, but now he’s not so sure. Still, he’ll keep his word. He’ll just never recommend him for field work.   
  
For now he thinks about himself and his own situation, thinks about the unconscious body he’s got in the trunk. The tranquilizer should last another two hours at least, which should be plenty of time to find Jiyong. He leaves the vehicle bay and locks it secure by way of the code when he leaves, securing his prize away from the eyes of any of the others. No one knows what he’s done yet.   
  
The guard at the gate had told him that Jiyong hadn’t returned yet, nor had any of the others, and Donghyuk wants to text Jiho immediately and ask where they are and what their ETA is. But he doesn’t want to put anything of the sort in a text message, leaving a paper trail of questions behind. Instead he makes his way towards Jiyong’s office building, intent on waiting for the team back there. He’s stopped outside by one of the guards.   
  
“Can’t let you in, sorry, he’s still out.”   
  
Donghyuk glares at him in irritation. “I know, and that’s why I’m coming here to wait for him. I have something of dire importance to discuss with him as soon as he gets back, so unless you want me to recommend you for bitch work duty, I’d get the fuck out of my way.” Donghyuk states, and he knows he’ll get away with it. This guard knows that he’s part of the upper ranks, part of the superior squad, so he shakes his head and relents.   
  
“Fine, you can go in. I’m just doing my job.”   
  
“I’ll make sure I tell him that,” Donghyuk snaps as he enters the small building. There’s no one inside, but even so he doesn’t take the stairs up to the second floor. He remains on the ground level, sitting down on the carpet by the front entry area. He won’t push his luck any further than it’s already been pushed.   
  
He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it in his hands. He wants to check the news, because by now the story will be out, broadcasting everywhere. Witnesses will have made their statements, everyone will know that Germanicus is dead. He wonders if the Legion know that Caligula is missing yet? Or do they think he’s still on a manhunt for his father’s killer?   
  
But he puts the phone back in his pocket, because he’s got a very unique opportunity now. He’s brought Jiyong back a mighty gift, the kind of gift that demands a favor.   
  
He can ask for anything, and Jiyong will probably give it to him.   
  
It’s an exciting thought, but it’s also a little terrifying. Because if he’s being honest with himself, there’s only one thing he wants that he needs to ask for. Only one favor that he couldn’t get himself by hard work and good results.   
  
Does he dare ask for it, though? Can he really make that demand of Jiyong?   
  
Does Jiwon really deserve it?   
  
He spends the twenty minutes he waits for Jiyong crafting the demand in his head, trying to find the best words to ask for the one thing his heart desires above all other things. This could easily backfire on him, so he’ll have to be careful about how he asks and who hears his demand. Jiho wouldn’t be so quick to forgive him for asking, so he’ll have to find a way to ask Jiyong alone.   
  
He hears the click of the door opening and gets to his feet, nervous but excited. He can’t wait to hear news from the others, he suspects none of them will sleep tonight, too excited to rest.   
  
Jiyong is followed inside by Youngbae, Jiho, and Yongguk. There’s no sign of the other two, but Donghyuk isn’t concerned about them at the moment. He greets them with a grin, and is surprised when Jiyong glares back at him.   
  
“Where have you been?”   
  
Donghyuk is taken aback by the question. They had no agreement to meet up. “I got back maybe half an hour ago? I’ve been waiting here for you.”   
  
Jiyong approaches him with the slow stalk of a tiger advancing on prey, and Donghyuk is confused at the response. Why isn’t Jiyong happy? Why does he look angry?   
  
“What’s wrong?” Donghyuk finally asks, and he wonders if maybe the other two got caught. It would explain the anger.   
  
“What’s wrong?” Jiyong repeats, his voice calm. “You were there, Donghyuk. You tell me.”   
  
At that Donghyuk looks around at the others, for the first time worried that maybe Jiyong won’t be happy with his gift. But he’d only said not to hurt anyone else, and he hasn’t hurt Hanbin. He’s just kidnapped him. But then his eyes fall on Yongguk, who looks terrified and nervous, and suddenly he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. Yongguk’s nervous eyes follow Jiyong around the room, and Donghyuk notices that Jiho’s hand is clamped firmly around Yongguk’s forearm.   
  
He looks back at Jiyong. “He’s not dead, is he?”   
  
“No, he’s not.” Jiyong replies, still calm, but the anger is evident in his flaming eyes. “Yongguk was a poor shot tonight. Weren’t you?”   
  
Donghyuk watches as Yongguk drops to his knees, like he knows exactly what’s about to come. “I was aiming for the heart, but he must have been wearing something that deflected it.”   
  
“Which is why I told you to shoot him in the head.” Jiyong says, and immediately pulls a gun from his jacket and presses the muzzle into Yongguk’s forehead. “Such a waste.”   
  
Donghyuk flinches when Jiyong pulls the trigger, shocked at the turn of events. He’s not shocked at Jiyong killing Yongguk, but he’s shocked that he needs to. Shocked that he’d fucked up the shot. Donghyuk’s eyes slide from Yongguk to Jiho, who’s staring down at the hole in the back of his best friend’s head. Jiho knows how he feels, now, only Yongguk’s failure was worse than Jiwon’s.   
  
Jiyong stalks back to Donghyuk. “Why didn’t you know until now?”   
  
Donghyuk forces himself to meet Jiyong’s eyes, nervous when he sees the flames dancing in them. “I saw him get shot, but then the smoke bombs were set off, so I didn’t see what happened next. But then I had something else come up.” He pauses, but Jiyong doesn’t say anything, so he presses on. “I brought you a gift.”   
  
“A Legion security guard?” Jiyong says with a sneer. “I’m not interested.”   
  
“No,” Donghyuk says, wary now of saying it out loud. “Something else.”   
  
“Speak plainly and tell me what you brought, before I put a bullet in your head too.” Jiyong replies, bur Donghyuk doesn’t back down.   
  
“It’s better if I show you,” Donghyuk says, because given the new information, he doesn’t want Jiho around for his reveal. He has to claim this all on his own.  He has to be the saviour of the night.   
  
“Just tell us what you brought!” Jiho explodes, yelling from his place by the door, clearly agitated.   
  
“I’d rather show you.” Donghyuk replies, ignoring Jiho’s outburst and looking at Jiyong. This is his moment, and he’s not going to let Jiho ruin it by pinning his emotions on him.   
  
“Why should I humour you with an audience?” Jiyong asks, irritated.   
  
“Please,” Donghyuk replies, “the car is in the vehicle bay, you’re going to want to see what’s in the trunk with your own eyes.”   
  
They’re at a standstill, but in the end Donghyuk wins out.   
  
“Fine. Let’s go see what’s in the car.” He turns to leave and Donghyuk follows, Jiho makes to follow them too but he’s stopped by Youngbae, who looks down at Yongguk’s corpse.   
  
“Not you,” Youngbae says, “you have a body to bury right now.”   
  
Jiho makes a noise of disagreement and Donghyuk turns to look at him, meeting his eyes. He’s surprised to see fear in them, but then when he thinks about it, he realizes that Jiho has every reason to be afraid. Yongguk might have fucked up the shot, but Jiho was the one who chose Yongguk.   
  
Donghyuk turns back around to follow Jiyong and he can’t help but smile. Maybe, if luck is on his side tonight, more than one thing might go right for him. The thought is a dangerous one. Jiho will be grasping at the reins of his leadership, and he’ll be distraught over losing Yongguk, even if he refuses to admit it out loud.   
  
Maybe he ought to reconsider his request? But the only thing in his head on the short walk to the car is the thing he’s already prepared himself to ask for. He can’t change his mind now, not simply in response to what’s happened. He’s asking for this for a reason. He has to stick to it.   
  
“This had better be worth my time, Donghyuk,” Jiyong says to him as they walk together, and Donghyuk bristles at the unspoken threat. But he’s certain now that as angry as Jiyong is, he’s at least bought his own safety tonight. This should, by all rights, salvage the night for Jiyong. Then he’ll be seen as the saviour of the night, while Yongguk will be the villain.   
  
He unlocks the door to the vehicle bay, and no one comes flying at him from the shadows. The car looks untouched, so Caligula is still inside, unconscious and waiting. Donghyuk stands at the trunk and readies himself. This is either going to be the greatest reward he’s ever earned for himself, or it’s going to be the last request he ever makes. His very life hangs by the whims of Jiyong’s mood.   
  
“I want to ask you for a favor,” he says quickly before he loses his nerve, turning around to look Jiyong in the eyes. The flames are still there, so Jiyong’s rage is still burning brightly. Donghyuk doesn’t flinch, he forces himself to remain calm.   
  
“My patience is exceptionally thin right now,” Jiyong replies, “I would suggest you ask for nothing.”   
  
Donghyuk can’t back down now. He knows he’s got a prize, and he has to show Jiyong that he’s willing to fight for what he’s owed. “I ask that you pardon Jiwon,” he says, and he’s surprised to hear himself say it, even though it’s what he’s planned. “Not a full pardon, he won’t fight again, he doesn’t deserve that. But he can work, he can be useful. He can fight in the street, he can be a soldier and he can run missions. He’s more than just a doctor’s pet.”   
  
The click of Jiyong’s gun draws his attention, and Donghyuk swallows nervously as he appraises Jiyong. But he won’t back down, and he won’t apologize. He waits. Jiyong would definitely kill him if he rolled over so easily.   
  
“What’s in the trunk?” Jiyong asks, slowly approaching Donghyuk, livid at the demand. But he also knows that Donghyuk is not the type to ask for something without reason. He’s smarter than the rest of them, so logic would have it that he must have someone of high importance in the trunk of the car. But who?   
  
Donghyuk holds his stare for another second before turning back to the trunk and unlocking it, pushing the door up. He’s calmer than he has any right to be, given the situation. But lives depend on that calmness. His life and Jiwon’s life.   
  
He steps aside to let Jiyong approach, and as soon as Jiyong sees whose body is lying in the trunk he lets out a short laugh, his lips pulling up into a grin that has Donghyuk relaxing a little. A laugh still doesn’t mean he’s safe, but it’s better than a shout of fury.   
  
“This is a fine gift,” Jiyong says, reaching a finger down to check Caligula’s pulse. His breathing is even but slow, his heart is beating normally. He turns to Donghyuk, fixing him with a pleased expression, but the flames in his eyes don’t recede, and a second later he knees Donghyuk in the stomach and grabs his hair, pulling his head back and sticking the muzzle of his gun into Donghyuk’s neck.   
  
“If it were anyone else in that trunk, I would shoot you. But instead you’ve brought me the one thing that could salvage this operation. So I won’t kill you, I won’t even kill Jiwon.” He flips the safety onto his gun and puts it away in his jacket, releasing Donghyuk’s hair. “I’ll even reward you, eventually. Who else knows he’s here?”   
  
“Just us,” Donghyuk replies, still on his knees.   
  
“Are you sure there’s no one else?” Jiyong asks, wondering about the technician.   
  
Donghyuk mentally berates himself for his too hasty answer. “Chanwoo, the young technician. He was with me tonight.”   
  
“Yes, the blackout,” Jiyong says, folding his arms across his chest. “Why did he not wait for me with you?”   
  
“He went back to his bed to sleep,” Donghyuk replies, “he was exhausted.”   
  
Jiyong nods. “Is there anyone else?”   
  
Donghyuk shakes his head. If there is anyone else, it’s because Chanwoo has told them. He can’t be held accountable for someone else’s flapping lips. “No one else knows.”   
  
“Good. Keep it that way.” Jiyong answers, before standing by the car again. “Do not breathe a word of this to anyone. You understand the police will come here, looking for him?”   
  
“I cut the tracker out of his neck,” Donghyuk replies, “Chanwoo scanned him. If they come, it won’t be because they have hard evidence. It’ll just be a hunch.”   
  
“Good,” Jiyong replies, “I’ll still be moving him off site. And actually, I’ve just thought of a wonderful use for Jiwon, a way for him to prove himself again. Congratulations, Donghyuk. I’ll actually grant you your demand. But you will speak nothing of it to anyone. Am I understood? I want this kept quiet for now. I don’t trust the majority of our members to treat this situation with discretion. But you’ve always been smarter than the others. Chanwoo is a smart kid.”   
  
“He won’t talk,” Donghyuk says in agreement. “This secret is safe with us.” He doesn’t mention Jiwon, because he doesn’t want to push his luck. But he’s dying to know what Jiyong wants Jiwon to do.   
  
“Good. I mean it Donghyuk. Jiho will press you for answers. Don’t give him any.”   
  
Donghyuk nods in understanding, and he wonders how this is going to turn out. He’s always followed Jiho’s orders, ever since he’d moved his way up. And now Jiyong is telling him directly to stop treating Jiho like a superior.   
  
So does that mean that he’s moved up, or that Jiho has moved down?   
  
“Take the car into the main bay, do it now while no one is in there. Transfer the body into another car, Youngbae and I will be taking him away soon. Once we leave, have the stolen car taken apart and disposed of. I want no traces of this, we have to be clean about it. That car came in, but it will not go out. Not in one piece, at least.”   
  
“I’ll do it myself,” Donghyuk replies.   
  
“Good. When you’re finished with your task, get some sleep. I’ll find you when I need you.”   
  
He watches as Jiyong and Youngbae leave the car bay. Donghyuk sits behind the wheel, giddy at that which he’s just managed to accomplish. He’s actually done something for Jiwon, something that will help him climb his way back up the ladder. At the same time he’s elevated his own status with Jiyong, has proven that he’s worthy of Jiyong’s trust, that he can make things happen.   
  
He’s salvaged the night. He, himself, is the saviour of their secret mission against the Legion. Sure, they lost Yongguk, and he still doesn’t know what’s happened to Wonho and Woojin. But he’s won, which means that Jiwon has also won. All of those nights sleeping with the old Bible under his pillow, and God has answered his prayers. He’s still in danger though, still isn’t sure what’s going to happen between himself and Jiho. But he’s pretty certain that as of now, they’re at least on completely equal levels, at least in Jiyong’s eyes.   
  
Jiho might be better at kissing Jiyong’s ass, but Donghyuk is smarter, and tonight is proof that Jiyong values intelligence and good plans over an obedient lap dog. He backs the car out of the bay and takes it to the larger main bay, getting to work on Jiyong’s orders. It’s still late in the night, and he’ll probably be stuck disassembling the car until well into the morning. But it’s worth it, in the end.   
  
Jiwon saved him when they were children, and now Donghyuk has finally been able to repay him the favor.

**Author's Note:**

> Jiwon's stage name of Stray Bullet, along with the title "the illegitimate son of God" comes from the KMFDM song "Stray Bullet"


End file.
